


dust to dust

by 1000_directions



Series: luckyverse [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Found Family, Goat Herder Bucky Barnes, Horses, M/M, Possible Infinity War spoilers, Romantic Kitchen Dancing, Sometimes Self Care is Going to the Farmers Market, Therapy, Wakanda forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15581199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: “This isn’t your problem,” Bucky insists. “This is my problem.” He shakes his head and lets his hair fall around his face like a shroud. “I’m the problem, Lou.”“You’re not any kind of problem,” Louis says, and he tucks Bucky’s hair back behind his ears and places his fingers on Bucky’s chin to tip his face up. “Sometimes, things just break and don’t heal right the first time. It might hurt a little bit, and some things that were fixed might get broken again. But you deserve to heal properly.”Bucky’s with Louis till the end of the line.





	dust to dust

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story about healing.

When Bucky gets home from the grocery store, the back door is a few inches ajar, and the table where they keep their keys is overturned. The mail that had been stacked on the table is now a graceless puddle on the floor, and the phone charging station has been yanked out of the wall, and Louis and Freddie and Cliff don’t acknowledge his arrival, which means that either all three of them are out of earshot or something terrible has happened.

It’s automatic, his switch into soldier mode, but it’s not seamless like it used to be. He surveils the scene as impassively as he can, but he can’t entirely dampen his emotions anymore. He can’t dissociate from the fact that someone he loves might be in trouble. He tries to bargain with himself. If something happened to Louis and Freddie while he wasn’t here to protect them, then he will absolutely fucking melt down, but not yet. First, he needs to figure out what happened and then figure out what to do. _Get your shit together. Louis needs you to get your shit together._

But it’s hard to know where to start. He knows he needs to survey and secure the entire perimeter and assess any irregularities, but it’s hard to tell the new mess apart from Louis’ regular mess. There are new scuff marks on the doorframe that weren’t there before, and there is an indentation on the wall behind the door, like it was flung open aggressively enough for the knob to leave a mark. But Louis is careless sometimes, and Freddie gets eager and clumsy with doors when he’s excited. Could be a sign of a break-in, could be just normal lack of awareness. _Inconclusive_.

The stools at the kitchen counter aren’t lined up neatly like Bucky left them. Maybe Louis and Freddie were hiding under the counter so an intruder wouldn’t notice them, or maybe they didn’t push them back in after breakfast. _Inconclusive_.

The faucet is slowly dripping. Is it normal wastefulness, or has Louis left a code for him? What does water mean? What could Louis possibly be trying to tell him? _Inconclusive, inconclusive, inconclusive_. The door is _still open_. Louis and Freddie are _still not here_ , and he doesn’t know where they went. He can’t do his job right, he can’t fucking protect them if Louis is going to be such a slob, how is he supposed to keep them safe when it’s so messy he doesn’t even know where to start looking, how is he--

“Hey!” Louis says breathlessly, walking back through the ajar door. Freddie is chasing after Cliff, and the dog clips a table as he cuts around a corner, and there’s another crash, something else falling to the ground and instantly forgotten.

“I didn’t know where you were,” Bucky blurts out. They’re fine. They’re obviously fine, blithely going about their day like always, and he was overreacting. They’re fine, they’re _fine_ , but his stupid heart hasn’t got the message yet, and he still feels panicky.

“We were just out back in the garden,” Louis says. He’s smiling and he’s panting, and he’s fine, he’s here and completely fine. “Cliff and Freddie were getting too wild, so I tried to run it out of them. Don’t think it worked though.”

“The table was knocked over,” Bucky says. His heart hammers in his ears, like it’s building something inside of him, something sinister and volatile that gets closer to completion with every sharp thud of his pulse.

“I suppose it was,” Louis says, seeming to notice it for the first time. He rights the table, shoves the mail carelessly on top of it. “You know how they get.”

“I can’t,” Bucky says, and then he stops. He sits down and closes his eyes, rests his head on his folded hands. He feels silly that he overreacted so much, and that feeling is starting to make him angry, and he needs to take a breath.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks quietly. Bucky feels him sit next to him at the table, but Louis knows by now not to touch Bucky when he has his eyes closed.

“You weren’t here,” Bucky says finally, opening his eyes. Louis looks worried. _Good_. “You weren’t here, and the table was knocked over, and I thought something happened.”

“Everything’s fine,” Louis says softly. “Nothing to worry about, love. Everyone’s safe.”

“You can’t just be this messy,” Bucky says in frustration. “I can’t keep you safe if I can’t tell the difference between someone breaking in and you just being a slob.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says. He reaches a hand towards Bucky but stops before touching him. “That must have been scary, and I’m so sorry I scared you. I didn’t realize. I’ll try to be more careful.”

He’s saying all the right things, but it’s not enough. All the cortisol in Bucky’s blood has nowhere to go, and he’s still ready for fight or flight. He’s ready for _fight_.

“I can’t do my job--”

“This isn’t your _job_ ,” Louis interjects with a small frown. “This is our home. I know it’s been an adjustment for both of us, but this is our space. All of ours. A child and a dog live here, and it’s going to be messy sometimes.”

“I don’t know if I can handle that,” Bucky says. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he’s not ready to be the person that Louis thinks he already is.

“I know that you can,” Louis says forcefully. “Listen, I could stand to be tidier. We both know that. And you know that I’ve been trying. You know that I’m better than I was.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Maybe you need to try a bit more, too,” Louis continues, and his voice is gentler now, soothing and concerned. “It’s okay to be frustrated that it’s not tidy. That’s perfectly understandable. But I can’t have you terrified every time I leave a jumper on the floor instead of hanging it up. That’s not sustainable, love.”

The frustrated anger starts bubbling up again, because it is _perfectly reasonable_ for Bucky to be scared for Louis’ safety, and he needs order, he _needs_ it, and if stupid Louis doesn’t--

And then he stops, because _stupid Louis_ is a fucked up, irrational thought. And he realizes he is getting defensive. And when he has irrational thoughts and when he gets defensive, that is a signal to himself that he is supposed to examine what he’s thinking and feeling and try to reframe it. That’s what Marcel, his new therapist, told him to do, and so that’s what he does.

Louis isn’t stupid. Louis is trying to help him. Becoming terrified because of an overturned table is not a helpful or productive behavior. Disorder makes him uncomfortable, and Louis knows that and is working on his own behaviors, but Bucky can’t expect him to be perfect. He’s never going to be as organized as Bucky is, and Bucky knew that when he agreed to move in. He can’t just expect Louis to adapt to his standards; he has to do his own compromising as well. And Louis is right. Bucky can’t instinctively become terrified every time something is a little out of place. That’s a waste of energy.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says eventually. “I got scared, and then I felt stupid for getting scared.”

“It’s fine, love,” Louis says, and he places his hand on top of Bucky’s and gives it a little squeeze. It’s nice. “I’m sorry I scared you. I promise I’ll try harder to be tidy. And if I go out, even just to the garden, I’ll leave a note so you’ll know where I am.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says softly. He’s so embarrassed, and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone who is so patient with him when he’s still so unpredictable and erratic, even after all this time.

“I’ll clean up the chaos while you put the groceries away,” Louis says. Bucky nods, and Louis lifts his hand and gently kisses his knuckles, and Bucky has to close his eyes again. He loves this man so much he doesn’t even know what to do with himself sometimes.

Bucky takes all of the groceries out of his reusable canvas bags, then he folds up the bags and places them in the basket under the kitchen island where they belong. He begins sorting the groceries into piles based on where he wants to store them, and it’s a methodical, automatic process that he finds relaxing. Produce goes into two piles, depending on whether he wants it to stay at room temperature or go into the fridge. Dairy has a pile. Louis’ cereal has its own pile. He recognizes that he’s being more meticulous than necessary, but order is the enemy of chaos, and he has a lot of chaos working against him right now. He’s just finished sorting when Louis comes over to him.

“All straightened up,” Louis says. “How was the store today? Better than last time?”

“Not really,” Bucky says. He hates the grocery store. He hates how many people bump into him and don’t apologize. He hates how many choices there are for every item. Sometimes, he just wants to eat a pear, and he doesn’t want to choose from six different varieties he’s never heard of. The lights are harsh and buzzy, and they vibrate at a frequency that his arm picks up, and it makes him jittery and uneasy. It’s too much sensory overload for him, and every time he thinks he’s getting more comfortable there, something happens that proves him wrong.

“You know we can just have the groceries delivered,” Louis reminds him, but Bucky doesn’t like that idea either. He’s usually okay with it, but there are times when he absolutely cannot handle someone showing up at the house when he’s unprepared for it. It’s rare, but it still happens, and he can’t predict when. The entire reason Bucky even started going to the grocery store is because Louis was living almost entirely on delivery, and Bucky just...can’t. He needs to have an option for feeding them that doesn’t involve someone coming to the house.

“I want to be able to go,” Bucky says. “It’s so dumb that I can’t just go the grocery store like everyone else does, without even thinking or worrying about it.” _Without coming back home afterwards so tense that I snap at you for the stupidest little thing_.

“I know you do,” Louis says. He rests his hand on Bucky’s left shoulder, and Bucky’s metal hums happily from the gentle contact. “I’m sorry. I wish I could fix this.”

“Did I make a mistake switching to Marcel instead of staying with S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Bucky asks softly. He thought he was ready, he’d really felt _ready_ to start seeing a civilian therapist instead of an agency one. But maybe he’s too fucked up for Marcel to fix. Maybe he’s only been kidding himself into thinking that he could have any of this and be like anyone else.

“I will support whatever choice feels best to you,” Louis says. “But I know you’ve been working really hard with Marcel, and I can see how it’s been helping you. I’m so proud of you, love.”

“I was doing okay for a while, wasn’t I?” Bucky asks quietly. “But lately I feel like I’m losing it.”

“You’re not losing it. It’s a new situation, and you’re adjusting the best you can. If you want, I could go with you,” Louis suggests, and his thumb is an insistent, grounding presence against Bucky’s arm. “If it would help, love. Maybe we can all come up with some strategies together. Help me figure out a better way to help you.”

“You help me all the time,” Bucky insists. “This isn’t your problem. This is my problem.” He shakes his head and lets his hair fall around his face like a shroud. “I’m the problem, Lou.”

“You’re not any kind of problem,” Louis says, and he tucks Bucky’s hair back behind his ears and places his fingers on Bucky’s chin to tip his face up. “Sometimes, things just break and don’t heal right the first time.”

“Like your wonky toe,” Bucky murmurs, and Louis grins.

“That’s right, like my stupid wonky toe. If I’d just told my mum that I’d hurt it, she would have taken me to Emergency and gotten it patched up correctly, and it would have healed back to normal. But instead, it healed all crooked, and by the time anyone found out about it, my only choices were to break it again to reset it or to just live the rest of my life with a wonky toe.”

“I love your wonky toe,” Bucky says.

“And I love your wonky everything,” Louis says. “But that doesn’t mean you deserve to live the rest of your life with a wonky everything. It might hurt a little bit, and some things that were fixed might get broken again. But you deserve to heal properly.”

“It feels like I regressed today,” Bucky admits. “It feels like I failed.”

“You didn’t, though,” Louis says firmly. “I saw you working it through in your head. You got into a bad situation, and then you got out of it. You solved a problem.”

“There shouldn’t have been a problem in the first place.”

“There’s always going to be another problem,” Louis says, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder. “I think the best we can do, any of us, is figure out a plan to get us through it. That’s what you’ve been doing, and you’ve been doing so well. I’m so, so fucking proud of you.”

“Feels like a silly thing to be proud of,” Bucky grumbles.

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t be proud of,” Louis murmurs, sliding his hand up Bucky’s neck to play with his hair. His fingers scratch at Bucky’s scalp as he leans in to place a soft kiss in front of Bucky’s ear. “You’re not the boss of me,” he whispers, his breath tickling at Bucky’s skin.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers back, turning his head to bump his nose into Louis’. He’s still getting used to saying the words, still getting used to feeling the feeling inside his chest, but it feels right to let Louis know.

“Love you, too,” Louis says. He presses his lips to Bucky’s forehead and leaves them there, and they stand like that for a moment, quietly breathing in each other’s nearness. Bucky’s heart is still hammering, but it feels purposeful and controlled now. Like maybe if he’s patient and trusting, his body can build something beautiful for both of them.

*

Later that evening, Bucky retreats to his safe room to clean his guns. That was a tricky conversation for them when he first moved in, trying to figure out a way for Bucky to have easy access to weaponry while making it impossible for Freddie to get at any of it.

“Do you _really_ need to keep guns in this house?” Louis had asked again and again, and Bucky would instantly shutter himself, unwilling to fight with Louis but incapable of imagining a scenario where he would be able to feel safe without any ability to defend all of them. Most people would never need access to the arsenal Bucky has at his disposal, but Bucky isn’t most people, and the threats he potentially faces are uniquely terrifying and powerful.

So they converted one of the extra bedrooms into a safe room, accessible only by retinal scan, and that’s where the guns and the knives live, hopefully never to be called upon but still nearby just in case. Only Bucky and Louis can unlock the room. Louis had protested, wanting no part of it, but Bucky was adamant that Louis have access to an impenetrable room in the house in case trouble arose while Bucky wasn’t home, and Louis reluctantly agreed.

Louis never goes in there. Bucky doesn’t much either, but sometimes, his hands need to feel busy and sure, and even with all of his programming erased, there is something easy and calming about the feeling of disassembling a glock and putting it back together, the familiar rhythm of pieces coming apart and then clunking solidly back into place. Marcel insists that Bucky needs to find new hobbies, ones that connect him to creation and not destruction, preferably ones that allow him to meet and interact with other people, and Bucky agrees that’s probably a nice goal, but he’s not quite there yet.

A few months ago, Bucky had left his S.H.I.E.L.D. appointed therapist’s office and realized that any benefit he had received from the sessions had been incidental, and that the actual point of his attendance was for S.H.I.E.L.D. to monitor him, and he didn’t want that anymore. He considered stopping therapy altogether, but he’d liked the idea of having someone to talk to, someone objective who wouldn’t abandon him if they found out he’d done some truly terrible things. He wanted someone he could practice opening up to, decide which bits he wanted to share with Louis and which he wanted to keep buried. He wanted someone who would listen to him talk about Louis and give him advice. As improbable as it seemed, he realized that he wanted a therapist just for himself.

Director Coulson had objected to him stopping, of course, but Bucky agreed to an annual psych evaluation in addition to his diagnostic physical, and since he hadn’t done anything dangerous in years, the agency couldn’t really justify forcing him into continued psychological monitoring disguised as therapy.

It took Bucky about a month to find Marcel. He needed someone who would listen to him and not judge him too harshly, but someone who would call him out when necessary and guide him to make better choices. Marcel had seemed too timid at first, perhaps even starstruck, but he had a solid sensibility to him, and a gentleness that Bucky wasn’t expecting, and even though he was young, there was an old-fashioned quality to him that felt familiar and comforting.

And so he’s been going to therapy, trying to work through the issues that he deems most important. And he pays for it out of his own pocket, and S.H.I.E.L.D. has no say in the matter, and it’s something he’s doing entirely for himself. It feels crazy to open up to someone. It’s fucking crazy to realize he’s giving so much personal information about himself to a complete stranger. But it seems to be helping. Louis thinks it’s helping, and Bucky thinks so, too, even if it’s not helping as quickly as he would have liked.

Maybe it’s stupid to ever trust anyone; maybe it’s stupider not to.

*

Marcel has always made it clear that Bucky is welcome to bring someone else along to their sessions if he’s having trouble expressing himself to them and wants some objective facilitation. Bucky isn’t sure if that’s exactly what he’s looking for when he brings Louis to his next appointment, but he knows he’s looking for _something_ , and he’ll take all the help he can get.

At the normal time, Bucky walks from the waiting room back to Marcel’s office, his right hand clutching Louis’ left. He knocks on the door and waits for Marcel to let them in.

“If you don’t like having me there and you want me to leave, just let me know,” Louis murmurs. Bucky nods and doesn’t say anything, and then the door opens.

“Hi,” Bucky says awkwardly to Marcel. “This is Louis. Hope it’s okay that he’s here.”

“Of course,” Marcel says, shaking the hand that Louis offers him. Bucky doesn’t miss the way Marcel’s pupils dilate slightly when he sees Louis for the first time, and the way sweat begins collecting along his hairline. He realizes too late that maybe he should have specified to Marcel that his boyfriend Louis was Louis Tomlinson from One Direction, but it isn’t something that Bucky really thinks about. It’s part of Louis’ past, from before Bucky was even in the picture. It has nothing to do with them.

“Thanks for letting me tag along today,” Louis says with his typical dazzling smile. Marcel has definitely been holding onto his hand too long at this point, but Louis doesn’t seem to notice. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Marcel says hoarsely, then he abruptly drops Louis’ hand and clears his throat, and when he speaks again, it’s all business. “Let’s get started then.”

Bucky sits down on his usual place on the couch. Louis hangs back a bit while he gets settled, and Bucky remembers that this is Louis’ first time here, and he won’t know what to do in this situation, and he’s counting on Bucky to guide him through it.

“Sit with me,” Bucky says softly, moving more to one side of the couch to make room. Louis sinks down beside him, knees pressed together, hands in his lap, like he doesn’t know if it’s okay for them to touch. But it is okay, and it’s what Bucky wants, so he reaches for Louis’ hand and pulls it into his lap and twines their fingers together, and he feels the moment that Louis begins to relax.

“Well, it’s nice to see both of you here together,” Marcel says, and he’s back to the perfect picture of professionalism. “Bucky, what made you decide to invite Louis along today? Do we have a special agenda for the session?”

“Not sure,” Bucky admits. “Thought it might help. I had an incident over the weekend, and I don’t always trust myself to be objective.”

“I want to help,” Louis says quietly, “but I don’t know how.”

“Do you think Louis will continue to be a part of these sessions going forward?” Marcel asks. “Is that something that would be helpful for you, Bucky?”

“I don’t think so,” Bucky says haltingly. “I think...these sessions should be just for me, overall. But I want Louis to be a part of it today. To see what I do here. What we do here. And maybe to ask some questions I don’t know how to ask, and maybe to provide some context I’m unaware of. But not all the time.”

“Why don’t you catch me up on the last week,” Marcel says. “Any nightmares?”

“Not that I remember,” Bucky says. “Did you notice anything, Lou?”

“You were talking in your sleep one night,” Louis says slowly. “In Russian. You seemed upset. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you up, so I just put my hand on your shoulder, and you calmed down.”

“I didn’t realize,” Bucky says, and he hates that. Sleeping is bullshit, and dreaming is even worse. When he’s awake, he knows every thought that crosses his mind. The idea that his sleeping mind is thinking things he’s not even aware of is traitorous and unacceptable.

“Bucky, did Louis do the right thing? What would you like him to do if you seem to be disturbed in your sleep?”

“I think that was okay,” Bucky says after considering it. “If I calm down easily, that’s fine. But if it seems like I’m getting too agitated, you have to wake me up, Louis. And if it seems like I’m going to get violent and you can’t wake me up safely, you have to get out of there.” He still hasn’t forgotten the time he awoke from a nightmare to find Louis holding him down, and he can’t help but imagine a thousand different ways that situation could have played out, all of them ending with Louis being seriously injured. “I’d never hurt you when I was awake, but if I ever did something to you when I was asleep and couldn’t control it...I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, Lou.”

“I know,” Louis says softly.

“I don’t think you do,” Bucky says. “You always say you know, but you’ve never seen.” He speaks slowly as a realization starts to crystallize in his mind. “You don’t understand what I’m capable of because you’ve never seen what I’m capable of.”

“I know how strong you are.”

“You’ve watched me lift a bookcase, Lou,” Bucky says. “You’ve never seen me punch clean through a brick wall.”

“You can punch through a brick wall?” Louis asks, eyes widening slightly. Bucky nods gruffly and looks away from him. “You’re right, I suppose,” Louis says thoughtfully. “I only ever see you being gentle, and I know your heart and how good it is, and...I suppose it’s tricky to imagine you being violent. I know you were, I’m not stupid, but it just...doesn’t make sense, I guess.”

“I love that you see me as gentle,” Bucky says. “But I don’t want you to forget that this body is dangerous, and I’m the only thing holding it back. I don’t want you to get hurt because you forget what I am.”

“I’ll try to be more careful,” Louis says. “But I’m not going to change how I see you. I can’t. I refuse to look at you and see a weapon about to go off, because that’s not what you are.”

“Aren’t I, though?” Bucky asks very quietly.

“No,” Louis says forcefully, and he gets that angry, determined look on his face that indicates he won’t be backing down on this point. “I’ve seen you with your guard down. I’ve seen you let go of that control, and there wasn’t anything dangerous about you. Not a thing. You’re a good man. They don’t control you anymore.”

“Who says I was a good man before they controlled me?” Bucky asks, eyes tracing the patterns in Marcel’s rug. “You know I was a special forces sniper in the army? No one was controlling me then, and I looked through my scope and saw people close up, like I was right there next to them, and I killed them anyway. I’ve been killing people my whole life, Lou.”

“Did you like doing that?” Louis asks evenly.

“I was good at it.”

“Did you _like_ it?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says wearily. Everyone always acts like his intentions have anything to do with the truly awful things he’s done, but they don’t. It doesn’t matter what he was feeling at the time that he committed horrible, unspeakable atrocities. He did those things. He still _did_ them. “Didn’t really have a choice, I guess. It was war.”

“It’s not war anymore,” Louis says, and he pauses until Bucky looks at him. “You get to choose now, darling.”

“You get to decide who you are,” Marcel interjects softly, and Bucky startles; he’d forgotten he was even there. “What a gift, right? You get to start over and self-determine, and no one gets to take that decision away from you. Not HYDRA, not me, and not Louis. You can decide what kind of person you want to be, and we’ll help you manifest that change in your life.”

“I don’t know if a guy who’s done what I’ve done deserves to have the kind of life I dream about having,” Bucky mumbles, hoping if he says it real quiet, they won’t hear it. But of course they do.

“You deserve the whole world,” Louis says, running his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand. “There’s nothing you could have done so bad that it would change my mind.”

“But you don’t _know_ that,” Bucky says, swallowing hard.

“Do you want him to?” Marcel asks. “Do you want Louis to understand who you were before?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. Part of him wants Louis to see everything, to be horrified by the acts Bucky has committed and to agree, _yes, Bucky, you were a monster, you were a fucking monster and you’re right to be scared_.

But no one else has ever looked at him the way Louis looks at him, and the idea of losing that is devastating. And once Louis knows, he can never un-know it and look at Bucky that same naive way again.

“You don’t have to decide today,” Marcel says. “It’s just something to think about. You don’t owe anyone every last part of yourself, even if you love them.”

That doesn’t sound true, but Louis is nodding his head, so Bucky accepts it for now and files it away in his brain to reconsider at a future time.

“Right then,” Bucky says a minute later. “So, the supermarket.”

*

“Thanks for letting me come along today,” Louis says as he’s driving them home. “I hope it wasn’t too weird with me being there.”

“No weirder than usual,” Bucky says. There’s always going to be something that feels _wrong_ about sharing his feelings, but he’s getting more comfortable with it.

“I like Marcel,” Louis says. “Not too pushy.”

“Just pushy enough,” Bucky agrees, settling back into his seat.

“You know I love you all the time, yeah?” Louis says hesitantly. “Like even when you’re down on yourself and it makes me so cross I want to shake you until you stop doubting yourself, I still love you.”

“I don’t think that would work,” Bucky says, considering.

“I know, love. I know you’re not” - Louis takes his hands off the wheel to gesture in the air meaninglessly - “an Etch-a-Sketch.”

“No, not that,” Bucky says slyly. “Don’t think you could shake me. You’re not very strong.”

“How very dare you!” Louis retorts, his voice high and delighted with shock. “I could absolutely shake you.”

“You couldn’t,” Bucky teases, and Louis makes an offended noise and reaches over to punch Bucky on his left shoulder, which certainly hurts Louis more than it hurts Bucky.

“The absolute nerve,” Louis mutters. “I’m strong. Tell me that I’m strong right now or I’m stopping this car and leaving you on the side of the road.”

“You’re not strong enough to make me leave the car if I don’t want to get out,” Bucky reminds him, and he grins at Louis’ exasperated groan. “Pull over, babe.”

Louis grumbles to himself, but he pulls over the first chance he gets, idling the car on the shoulder. Bucky looks at him, at his beautiful Louis who trusts him so completely and loves him so much and helps him be a better person every single day.

“Thank you for coming with me today,” Bucky whispers. He cradles Louis’ face in his metal hand, and Louis’ eyes flutter closed. Bucky leans forward and kisses him gently, swallowing down Louis’ soft sigh.

“Love you,” Louis says when Bucky pulls back a minute later. “Hey, while we’re stopped, can you look at the left rear tire for me? I think I hit a pothole a while back, and I keep forgetting to check it.”

“Of course you did,” Bucky says with a good-natured roll of his eyes. Louis is not a great driver on his best day.

Bucky unbelts himself and slips out of the car, and the second he closes his door, Louis hits the power locks and raises an eyebrow at him, revving the engine. Right then, so that’s Bucky on the side of the road without even putting up a fight, and Louis could drive off right now without him, no problem. Louis unlocks the door a moment later, once he’s made his point.

“I’m strong _and_ I’m smart,” Louis says as Bucky situates himself in the passenger seat again.

“You’re a lot,” Bucky agrees. He places his hand on Louis’ chest, slightly off-center to catch the beat of Louis’ heart against his metal palm. “Strong and smart and clever and beautiful.”

“Cheers,” Louis says. He starts the car up and pulls back into traffic, but Bucky leaves his hand where it is, watching Louis’ elegant profile while his heart beats out a steady melody. “You know, Bria was telling me about a small farmers market she discovered. It’s only on Thursday mornings, so it doesn’t get too crowded, especially if you go early. Why don’t we check it out this week?”

“Yeah?” Bucky isn’t entirely sure what a farmers market is, but he suspects this is something Louis put a lot of thought into, so whatever it is, he’ll give it a try.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “We’ll drop Freddie off at school, and then we’ll go together.”

“I’d like that,” Bucky says. And who knows? Maybe he actually will.

*

Thursday morning, they drop Freddie off at his preschool, and then Bucky drives for twenty-seven minutes while Louis quietly navigates for him. Soon, he pulls into the dusty suggestion of a parking lot, which is most occupied by flat-bed trucks and cheerfully painted vans, all bearing the names of farms and produce growers and local bakeries. At the edge of the parking lot is a sprawling cluster of stalls. It’s somewhat enclosed, but not suffocating. The only light is natural light. It isn’t very crowded at all.

Bucky wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but this seems okay. Maybe this will be okay.

“Ready to go in?” Louis asks, and Bucky releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Let’s go check it out.”

The stall nearest the entrance is for a local coffee roaster, and the woman there smiles as they approach, extending sample sized cups to them. Bucky takes one and sips from it slowly, letting the acid and tannins and the heat work their familiar alchemy. He loves coffee, and this is excellent.

“That one is Kona,” she explains. “The beans come from Hawaii. Most places only sell it as a ten percent blend because it’s so expensive, but ours is one hundred percent. You can taste the difference.”

“This is so good,” he tells her, and she beams at him, a proud smile creasing her face. The flavor of the coffee is a delicate veil on his tongue, light and spicy and crisp. “I want to buy this.”

“Super!” she says cheerfully. “We have fresh brewed cups of coffee for four dollars, or you could buy a pound of beans for forty-five dollars to make it at home.”

“Both,” Bucky says. “I want both.” He turns to Louis, who is watching them with a quiet smile. “Do you want a cup of coffee, Lou?”

“I’m fine, love,” he says. “I’ll just steal a sip of yours, if you’ll let me.”

“I might not,” Bucky says, and then they both smile, because of course he will.

The woman places a steaming cup of coffee beside a small burlap bag of beans tied with a ribbon. Bucky hands her his credit card, and she runs it through a little gizmo that’s attached to the side of her phone.

The future is weird sometimes, and it keeps getting weirder, and he’s mostly accepted that. It’s strange, though, how this feels nostalgic to him, how this generous and simple transaction reminds him of going to a bakery as a kid and dropping a few coins into someone’s hand in exchange for a loaf of bread, back before the Depression and the breadlines, back when they still had the coins to spare. 

Bucky doesn’t suffer the delusion that the past was idyllic and the future was monstrous. He’s lived through both of them, and bad things happened in the past, and bad things continue to happen now, and that’s just life, not a symptom of changing times. Bucky likes some technology quite a lot: television, the automatic transmission on his car, and the ability to videochat with Freddie when he’s at Briana’s. But there are some pieces from the past that he misses, some nebulous intangible elements of human decency that haven’t translated perfectly through the decades. And he thinks maybe this market in a parking lot is the closest thread he’s going to find to the past here in Southern California.

“Do you have a bag to put these in, honey?” the woman asks, gesturing to the bag of beans, and Bucky shakes his head. “That’s okay, I’ll give you one of ours.” She puts his coffee beans in a reusable canvas bag that says Malibu Shores Coffee Roasting Company. “You boys come back and see me next week, okay?”

“We might do,” Louis says, slinging the bag over his shoulder and reaching for Bucky’s hand.

“Thank you very much for the coffee,” Bucky says. “I hope you have a nice day.”

“So what do you think?” Louis asks as they leave the stall. A few other people are milling about with bags over their arms, but no one bumps into them as they walk to the next stall, and it’s quiet enough that Bucky can hear every word that Louis says perfectly.

“That woman was nice,” Bucky says. “I like this coffee, and I like this new bag.” _And I like holding your hand out of affection and not anxiety, and I like having a quiet conversation with you in public, and I like that people here are kind and no one is rushing me, and I can’t believe you figured this out for me. I can’t believe how well you know me, and how lucky I am._

“This place is wicked,” Louis agrees. “Here, let’s look at these apples.”

The stall in front of them has a sign that says “Curly Tail Orchards,” and the O in Orchards is a smiling pig face. The young man behind the counter is wearing a pair of overalls over a floral-print T-shirt. Overflowing bushels of different colored apples cover every surface of his stall.

“How do I know which apples I want?” Bucky asks the man. It’s a question he asks himself every time he enters the produce section of the supermarket, but there is no one there to answer him. He hopes this man will be as helpful and kind as the coffee woman.

“Do you want apples for baking or apples for eating?” the man asks with an easy smile.

“Eating,” Bucky answers.

The man squints down at his bushels consideringly. He picks up a dark red apple and scrutinizes it. Then he puts it back and selects a pinkish apple, small and dusky with a leaf still attached to the stem.

“Try this one,” the man says.

“How much is it?”

“It’s a sample,” the man says. “It’s a Petunia apple, our own hybrid. Just see if you like it.”

Bucky nods and bites into the apple. The skin has a pleasant snap to it, and the flesh is sweet and soft without being mealy. He takes a few more bites, chewing carefully before swallowing. It is the best apple he’s ever eaten.

“That is delicious,” Bucky says. He hands it to Louis, who takes a bite and then raises his eyebrows. “I will take eight of them.”

“Make it a dozen,” Louis says.

“You don’t eat fruit,” Bucky says. “I’ve never seen you eat fruit.”

“I’ll eat this,” Louis says defensively.

“First time eating a freshly picked apple?” the man asks them with a knowing smile, and they nod. “Excuse my language, but the ones from the grocery store are just plain shitty. People don’t know how good apples can be until they taste one that just came off a tree.”

“Where are your trees?” Bucky asks.

“About twenty miles south of here,” the man says. “It’s still early in the season, but in a few weeks, we open up to the public, and you can come and pick your own apples.”

“Sick,” Louis says breathlessly. “My boy’s six. Is that an okay age for something like that?”

“It’s the perfect age,” the man says. “Here, I’ll give you this flyer. It has our location and our expected schedule for all the different varieties of apples. We harvest them at different times, so it’s worth coming out a few times during the season to try different kinds.”

“You’ve been very helpful,” Bucky says, accepting a small crate of apples from the man. He can still feel the sweet fruit juice tickling the back of his tongue. “Thank you for these apples. I hope you have a nice day.”

“We’re definitely doing this,” Louis says, intently studying the flyer as they walk away. “I mean, we’re doing this, right? You want to?”

“Definitely,” Bucky confirms. “I want to see the trees, and Freddie would have a ball.” He pauses to look around for the next stall he wants to patronize. There’s squash nearby, but Louis doesn’t like squash. He likes potatoes, though. “Let’s go over this way.”

If Bucky had thought there were a lot of apples, he was unprepared for how many varieties of potato there would be. There are small, irregularly shaped ones with waxy yellow skin. There are round red ones, smooth like river rocks. There are large ones with rough skin like burlap. There are at least eight more kinds, and Bucky has no idea which ones are the good ones and which ones aren’t, and he starts to feel that needle of anxiety pricking at his spine, reminding him that he is, at the end of the day, an imposter in modern society, a broken cyborg who’s just playing at being human, and--

“Howdy, boys,” a voice cuts in, and Bucky instinctively tries to place the accent. Texas, obviously. Probably Northwestern Texas, if he had to pinpoint it, near New Mexico. The voice belongs to the man inside the stall, who is smiling broadly at them. He’s about sixty years old, with a thick white beard and a small gold hoop in his right ear. The sign in front of the stall says QUEER SPUDS, and it’s painted to look like a rainbow.

“Hiya,” Louis says when Bucky remains silent. “What makes your potatoes queer?”

“I do,” the man drawls. “I pull ‘em outta the earth with my gay hands.”

“Cheers,” Louis says with a chuckle. He lays his head on Bucky’s shoulder and says quietly, “What do you say, babe? Want to cook me up some gay potatoes?”

Bucky nods as he tries to ground himself. This man is kind, and he is like them, and he will help them through this transaction, and Louis will be right here beside him the whole time. There is a rainbow on the stall. Rainbows mean the storm is over. He can do this.

“I would like some potatoes,” Bucky says finally.

“Then you’re at the right place,” the man replies. “What kind of potatoes are you looking for, honey?”

“What do you want me to make?” Bucky asks Louis.

“Chips,” Louis says with a smile.

“Fries,” Bucky translates for the man behind the stall, ignoring Louis’ disapproving grumble. “And probably some for mashing and roasting as well. This one likes starch.”

“Don’t tease me,” Louis mumbles, but he curls his arm around Bucky’s waist and cuddles closer to him. It’s a weird thrill, being this intimate in public. But Bucky can tell that Louis feels comfortable being affectionate around this man, and it makes Bucky feel comfortable, too.

“I’ll get a bunch together for you boys,” the man says. “And I’ve got a leaflet around here somewhere that says what kind’s good for what. You can stick it up on your fridge for a nice reference.”

“That would be perfect,” Bucky says. He likes lists. He likes reference. This tiny act of kindness emboldens him enough to say, “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“I’m not a local,” the man agrees, holding a potato in each hand and considering them both before adding one to the growing pile. “Most of us out here aren’t. Doesn’t sound like y’all are local either. Especially not that one.”

“I’m from England,” Louis says, stroking his thumb along the hem of Bucky’s hoodie. “Obviously. And this one’s from all sorts of places. And times, I suppose.”

“Is it hard being far from home?” Bucky asks. People always seem so nostalgic for the place where they were a child, and he can’t really relate to that. He doesn’t have any more loyalty these days to the streets of Brooklyn than he does to the cells of Siberia. But it seems the right thing to ask, so he asks it.

“I’m not far from home,” the man says with a wide grin. “Just far from Texas. Home is about ten minutes up the road, and I’ve been there for going on thirty-five years now, and I never looked back.”

“That’s lovely,” Louis murmurs. “C’mon then, love, give us more potatoes. We’ll buy as many as this one can carry, and he can carry plenty.”

“You’re going to turn into a potato if I cook up all of these for you,” Bucky says, and Louis laughs softly and closes his eyes.

“Then so be it,” he says. “You’d still love me if I was a potato, yeah?”

“I’d find a way to make it work,” Bucky promises. He realizes he’s completely done panicking, and the thought is warm and soothing, just like Louis’ head on his shoulder. He got through it. He did it.

“How long have the two of you been together?” the man asks them, hefting a large bag of potatoes at them as Louis fumbles for his credit card in his voluminous pockets.

“Been a little over two years, hasn’t it?” Louis says, turning to Bucky and raising an eyebrow.

“Two years, three months, one day,” Bucky says automatically as he accepts the bag of potatoes, and Louis grins broadly.

“He’s got a perfect memory,” Louis says proudly to the man. “Can’t get a thing past him. He’s brilliant.”

“However long it’s been, you two are damn adorable,” the man says. “Does my heart good.”

It does Bucky’s heart good, too, and maybe that’s why he feels so compelled to do something nice for this man, something even nicer than buying out his entire stall, which Louis has apparently done, judging by how many pounds of potatoes Bucky is carrying right now.

“Lou, let’s take a picture,” Bucky says urgently. “We can put it up on Instagram.” He turns his attention to their new friend. “If you don’t mind, that is. We can tag you. Louis has lots of followers. I don’t know if you recognize him, but lots of people follow him, and maybe some of them would buy potatoes from you.”

“I recognize him a little,” the man says with a small smile. “Recognize you a lot. You might have been my favorite.”

It still catches Bucky off guard, when people recognize him, when people see something in him that they can relate to or admire. He suspects most of them are seeing something that isn’t really there, but he thinks this man might be different. Maybe this man saw all the way through Bucky, even back then, and realized things before he even realized them about himself. He thinks maybe it could be nice to be seen. Maybe that gives him something to live up to.

“He’s my favorite as well,” Louis says, giving Bucky’s arm a squeeze. “It’s a good choice. He’s the best one. C’mon then, let’s take our picture. What’s your name, love?”

“Everyone out here just calls me Tex.”

“Love that,” Louis says. “Proper macho. Here, you stand between us and give us a little cuddle, and I’ll take a selfie.”

Louis slips so easily into his role as the leader of this photoshoot, arranging them and taking about a dozen pictures at slightly different angles, keeping up with his lively and charming banter the whole time. The three of them crowd around Louis’ phone to choose the best one, and they all mostly look the same to Bucky, but Louis and Tex have strong opinions, so he leaves them to fight it out and just silently watches the pictures as they scroll past. Bucky’s smile gets bigger in each one, and Tex is flushed red but looks ecstatic. They settle on one and post it to Louis’ page and also to Bucky’s, and then they both follow Tex’s Instagram account. It’s such a small thing to do, but it seems to have a huge impact on this generous man. It was a nice idea, and Bucky’s really glad he had it.

“We should be going,” Louis says reluctantly when they’re done. “I don’t think we’ll be done eating all these potatoes by next week, but if we’re here, we’ll drop by to say hiya anyway.”

“I sure would appreciate that,” Tex says, and he enthusiastically shakes Louis’ hand with both of his. Bucky’s arms are all full of potatoes, so he doesn’t have a free hand for shaking, but he smiles at Tex and hopes he can convey how special this encounter has been for both of them.

Bucky can’t carry anything else at this point, so they slowly start making their way back to the car. Louis’ arm snakes around Bucky’s waist, and their steps easily fall into sync as they walk past the rest of the stalls.

There’s so much on offer. Not enough to entirely replace their grocery store trips, because Louis still needs his cereal and his snackfoods, and there’s only one brand of yogurt that Freddie will eat, and there are other odds and ends that aren’t available here. But there are bushels of fruits and vegetables everywhere Bucky looks, and tables stacked tall with fresh-baked breads and pies, and stalls with meats and fish and unusual artisanal cheeses, and shelves with mason jars full of preserved fruits and pickled vegetables and homemade jam and local honey. And there are kind farmers and artisans everywhere, eager to speak proudly of their wares.

“Thank you for finding this place,” Bucky says softly. “I love it here. I love how we are here.”

“I’m just glad to see you so happy,” Louis says. “And I love showing you off in public. Don’t much have the chance, but I’m proud to be with you, and I like letting people know that. Jesus, you’re so fit, and you don’t even know you’re fit, and that makes you even sexier.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says with a smile, which turns into a smirk as he realizes something. “Hey, did you just say that I don’t know I’m beautiful, but that’s what _makes_ me beautiful?”

Louis is silent for an entire minute.

“Shit,” he says eventually. “Shit, don’t ever tell anyone I did that. Oh my god. That’s horrifying. It was an accident, I swear.”

“Hang on a sec, I just have to tweet about something entirely unrelated,” Bucky says, pretending to reach for his phone and grinning when Louis catches his arm.

“What will it take for you to never tell this story to anyone?” Louis asks seriously.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Bucky says, because of course he won’t if Louis doesn’t want him to. He takes a minute to consider his conditions. “But next week, I’m buying a squash, and I’m going to learn how to cook it, and you have to taste it.”

“Doesn’t seem like a fair trade,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose, “but I suppose I can sacrifice my tastebuds for the sake of my dignity.”

“I’ll learn a really good way to cook it,” Bucky promises.

And a week later, Louis is still skeptical, and he complains throughout the entire shopping trip the following Thursday, even after Bucky buys him a carton of mini whoopie-pies to morosely munch on. But when he’s eating grilled pattypan squash with local Meyer lemons later that night, he begrudgingly admits that it doesn’t taste like the inedible rubbish he was expecting, and Bucky will take his victories where he finds them.

*

The farmers market becomes a part of Bucky’s routine, like so many other things have become part of Bucky’s routine. He goes to therapy, and sometimes he has lots to talk about, and sometimes he shuts down and doesn’t want to tell Marcel anything and they just sit there in uneasy silence for forty-five minutes, but he keeps going.

He slowly teaches himself how to prepare simple meals with some help from the internet and a copy of Mark Bittman’s _How To Cook Everything_ , and he’s moderately successful at getting Louis to eat at least one serving of vegetables most days.

When it’s their weekend to have Freddie, Bucky takes Cliff along on his early morning runs, and they fit in a few miles before Louis and Freddie even wake up. He makes coffee and reads one of his books until Freddie stumbles down the stairs to join him, and then he lets Freddie inspect all of the local eggs in their spectacular shells. The chicken eggs he buys from the farmers market don’t have the same boring white shells as eggs from the supermarket. They’re green or pink or light brown with speckles, and Freddie picks out the ones he wants, and Bucky scrambles them up while Freddie makes toast, and eventually Louis joins them, and then Bucky fries up some bacon, and Louis makes more coffee, and they all eat together.

Louis teaches Bucky how to play video games, and he’s very, very bad at first, but once he learns the patterns and develops the muscle memory, he’s devastatingly good, to Louis’ awe and annoyance. But even though he’s good at the games, Bucky doesn’t really like them, and he especially doesn’t like how grumpy Louis gets when he loses. So mostly Louis plays FIFA or watches footie, and Bucky sits beside him on the couch, copying his favorite recipes down onto notecards that he keeps in a special box, just like his mother used to.

“You know, they have apps for that now,” Louis tells him during a commercial break. His head is heavy against Bucky’s shoulder, his entire body weight pressing against Bucky’s side. It’s perfect.

“I know that,” Bucky murmurs. “But I wanted to do it this way. Apps don’t last forever. I want to have something I can put my hands on. Something solid and timeless and real that I can give to Freddie someday.”

“Well, shit,” Louis says. “Here I am trying to take the piss out of you for being old-fashioned, and you’re just being lovely.”

Bucky and Louis go to the farmers market together for those first several weeks, and then eventually, Bucky starts going alone. He knows which stalls he likes, and he knows who will be friendly. And he’s always grateful for Louis’ company, but it’s strange and thrilling to realize he doesn’t _require_ it. Marcel tells him to lean into that, to push his boundaries and try new things by himself and discover how much he’s capable of, and he does. He visits Tex at his farm and spends a day helping him dig potatoes out of the earth with his own gay hands. He comes home to Louis that evening with dirt under his fingernails, sunburned and smiling and thinking that maybe he’ll plant his own garden one of these days.

“If you’re planting anyway,” Louis begins.

“Six,” Bucky says, cutting him off.

“What’s that?” Louis asks, brushing the dusty hair back from Bucky’s forehead. “Was just going to say you could plant a spot of Mary Jane if you wanted, and I’d be happy to test it out.”

“Six,” Bucky repeats. “You can legally grow six cannabis plants for personal use in the state of California. I already checked.”

“You know me so well it’s a little terrifying,” Louis says, in awe.

And summer turns to autumn, and they bring Freddie along and finally head out to Curly Tail Orchards to pick the last of the apples before the season ends.

“They do a lot of events here,” Louis says, squinting at a nearby poster as they wait in line for a truck to pick them up and drive them from the parking lot to the trees. “Haunted hayrides. Pumpkin picking. Loads of stuff that Freddie would enjoy.”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?” Bucky asks Freddie. When Bucky was younger, Halloween was more of an excuse for mayhem and property destruction than anything else. He missed out on the shift to costumes and candy, but he knows that it’s a big deal for kids these days.

“Dunno,” Freddie says. “I’m going shopping with Mommy when I go back.”

“Did you know that Bucky has never been trick-or-treating?” Louis asks Freddie in an unsubtle, mischievous stage whisper, and Freddie actually gasps, eyes wide, hands pressed to his cheeks. Tomlinsons are so _dramatic_.

“Never?” Freddie demands, and Bucky shakes his head. “You should come. We’ll all go together.”

Bucky looks over to Louis, who shrugs. Halloween has always been Briana’s holiday, because her family goes all out with the dressing up and the celebrations, and Louis and Bucky don’t really bother because neither of them grew up with contemporary American Halloween.

“If Bucky wants to,” Louis says. “And if it’s okay with your mum.”

“It’s okay,” Freddie says with the serene conviction of someone who doesn’t understand the intricate balancing act that keeps his co-parenting situation flowing smoothly.

“What should Bucky dress up as?” Louis asks.

“I don’t dress up,” Bucky says with a frown.

“You could be a Pikachu,” Freddie says thoughtfully, and Louis bursts out laughing. Bucky doesn’t know what that is.

“I don’t know what that is,” Bucky says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis says. “It’s perfect for you. Nice job, little lad. What about for me?”

“Power Ranger,” Freddie says, and Louis nods approvingly.

“Perfect choice,” Louis says. “What color Power Ranger.”

“Orange!” Freddie shrieks, and then he gets distracted when several horses come over to them, about ten feet off behind a fence. The line they’re all waiting in runs alongside one of the fenced-in paddocks, and Bucky suspects that the horses tend to congregate near whoever they think is most likely to sneak them apples. Freddie would be a safe bet.

“There isn’t an orange Power Ranger,” Louis grumbles, but Freddie isn’t listening anymore, fascinated by the horses.

Bucky’s a little fascinated, too. He hasn’t seen a horse in years.

“Let’s get closer,” Bucky says. The three of them step out of line to approach the fence, and the horses notice them coming and start crowding around. Freddie and Louis hang back a little, but Bucky goes right up to the fence. A brown mare ducks her long face down to him and snuffs at his shirt pockets, probably looking for apples. Louis gasps from behind him, but Bucky just laughs. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be tickled by a gentle horse intent on finding treats.

“I thought you were afraid of animals,” Louis says suspiciously.

“I’m not afraid of animals,” Bucky replies indignantly. “What the fuck?”

“Language,” Freddie says with both hands on his hips, and Louis smirks. It’s rare for Bucky to be on the receiving end of that particular rebuke, but he’s not afraid of animals, _Louis_ , so what the fuck?

“You were petrified of Cliff, and he’s harmless,” Louis reminds him.

“I wasn’t scared of Cliff. I just don’t like dogs,” Bucky says. “I love animals. Dogs are just...unnatural.”

“You’re unnatural,” Freddie says, plucking blades of grass and throwing them at the horse’s hooves. “But we like you anyway.”

“Oi, don’t be rude,” Louis says with a frown. “That’s not a nice thing to say to Bucky.”

It’s hard to explain why Bucky is so bothered by dogs in particular. He loves horses, chickens, goats, rhinoceroses. Even cats are okay. It’s just...wild animals know they’re wild. Most domesticated animals coexist with people but still know their place. Horses will pull a plow, but they still live in a field and eat from the ground. A hen will let you move her and take her eggs, but she pecks at you and defiantly lays more, reasserting her essential self each morning in spite of you.

But a dog will come inside your home and learn your tricks and play with your children and sleep in your bed, and all the while, he’s a wolf, he’s a wolf, he’s a _wolf_. And maybe he’s forgotten, but some things curl up inside your DNA, latent, waiting for the worst time to strike. Some things are still true, even when you don’t remember them, even when that part of yourself feels foreign and untouchable and lost to the past.

“It’s okay,” Bucky says belatedly. “He’s not wrong.” He pats the horse on her flank, scratches at her with his blunt nails until she whinnies with contentment and nuzzles his shoulder. 

“That horse is five seconds away from mounting you,” Louis says wryly.

Freddie squints at him, opens his mouth like he’s about to ask a question, so Louis cuts him off before he gets a chance. “Why don’t you count how many different horses are in each pen and report back to us with a total, lad?” Freddie nods and takes off, and Louis watches him go.

“Where did you ever even meet a horse?” Louis asks, stepping closer to Bucky. He extends a tentative hand towards her, and Bucky covers it with his own, turns Louis’ wrist so he’s gently stroking the side of her nose with the back of his hand. She snuffles at them, and Louis laughs under his breath, mesmerized.

“Wakanda,” Bucky says softly, the word like a snowflake on his tongue, delicate and magical and nearly invisible, a secret part of him that might melt if he lingers on the memory too long. God, he hasn’t said that word in so long, and he wants to say it again. “I took care of animals when I lived in Wakanda.”

“When did you live in Wakanda?”

“Years ago,” Bucky says. “You know. Before I came back here.”

“I don’t know,” Louis says gently, their hands still petting the horse in unison. “You never talk about it, love.”

“It’s….” It’s hard to remember how a time that was so perfect could turn so terrible. It’s easier to pretend it never existed, like every part of his life was awful following awful until he met Louis.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Louis says.

“I do,” Bucky says. “I want to.” He does, he wants to share this part of himself with Louis. It’s one of the only real secrets he has left, and he doesn’t want to keep it any longer. But it’s buried so deeply inside his memories now that he doesn’t know what else will shake lose when he tries to excavate it. “Later, though. When we’re home.”

“Whatever you want,” Louis says. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Freddie runs over then to report that there are six horses in one pen and eight in the other, and one of the horses is black and two are white and the rest are brown. Louis congratulates him on a job well done, and then the truck finally shows up and they all head off to pick their apples.

Louis doesn’t push the subject. Bucky knew he wouldn’t, but he almost wishes that he would. It’s easier to open up when Louis asks him a question directly, and it’s harder to want to take the initiative himself.

He waits until they’re in bed, lights out, blankets tucked around them, Louis’ body wrapped securely around Bucky’s left arm. He listens to Louis breathe quiet and even. He’s resting, but he’s not asleep yet; Bucky knows the difference. He thinks maybe this is the time.

“Lou?” he asks softly. “You still up.”

“Mmm,” Louis mumbles, touching his lips briefly to Bucky’s shoulder and then propping himself up on one elbow. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Just wanted to talk. If that’s okay.”

“Course,” Louis says. He reaches out to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, and even though the room is already dark, Bucky still closes his eyes to better feel the gentle contact. “What’s on your mind?”

“What do you know about Wakanda?”

“It’s in...Africa?” Louis answers hesitantly. “There was a terrible war there a few years back and it was in the news a bit, but I don’t know that much, to be honest. Did...did you go there for the war?”

“I was already there,” Bucky says quietly. “And the war came to me.”

“Oh, love,” Louis murmurs. “You don’t have to tell me about it if it’s horrible.”

“It’s not horrible. Not all of it.” Bucky’s memory helpfully provides him with images of regal mountains and an endless grassland and a sunset unrivaled by any other. He remembers kind people and good friends and a feeling that he was finally safe. “It was my favorite place.”

“When were you there?”

“Years ago. I wanted to stop hurting people, and I wasn’t strong enough to stop by myself, so I went there for help.” It’s such an understatement that it’s laughable. “Honestly, Lou, I’d thought I was going to be okay, that I could get through it myself. So I went into hiding, but then someone found me and triggered me again and I killed forty-seven federal agents. So I had to disappear, and I needed to get better. And I needed help.”

“You are better,” Louis says. “I know you are.”

“I am now. There was a lot of old programming in my head that had to come out first, and no one knew how to do that. No one except for Shuri.”

“Who is he?”

“She,” Bucky corrects gently, “is the crown princess of Wakanda, and the smartest person I have ever known. And a very good friend.”

“Just casually mentioning that you’re friends with a princess, I see how it is,” Louis teases him, and Bucky smiles.

“I’m friends with the king, too,” Bucky tells him.

“Sounds like a smart monarchy with very good taste,” Louis says.

“They’re good people,” Bucky says. “It’s a beautiful country. They don’t really take in outsiders, especially not back then. But they took me in and gave me a home, and I lived in a peaceful hut near a pasture, and I looked after horses and goats, and...I was safe, Lou.”

“Why did you leave?”

“The war came and changed everything,” Bucky says.

“Too right,” Louis says very quietly, and it catches Bucky off-guard. He forgets, sometimes, that it wasn’t just those who were present who were affected, that there were repercussions throughout the galaxy. Statistically, Louis certainly lost people he cared about, maybe even dozens of people.

“I don’t really like to talk about that part of it,” Bucky says haltingly. He doesn’t want to think about it, _isn’t_ going to think about it. Not tonight.

“Don’t really fancy talking about it either,” Louis says, swallowing hard. “Probably should someday, but not tonight. But tell me more about these goats. Did they follow you around like that horse we saw today?”

“Of course,” Bucky says. “Animals love me.”

“ _I_ love you,” Louis says, and he leans over to kiss the corner of Bucky’s mouth, then his forehead, then the tip of his nose. “Love you so fucking much. Can’t stand to imagine a world where I didn’t get to meet you and fall in love with you.”

“Lucky, then, that we’ve just got this one world,” Bucky says. “This one where we’re in love.”

“Have you been back since you left?”

“I haven’t,” Bucky says. “I want to, but it hasn’t been right.”

“I’d go with you,” Louis says. “If they’d let me, that is. I hear they aren’t very welcoming to strangers, but I also know someone who is friends with the king, so maybe he could work it out for me.”

“I would love to bring you there,” Bucky says, cupping Louis’ cheek with his metal hand. “I would love to show you around. I know you’ve seen a lot, but I promise you’ve never seen anything like Wakanda.”

“Then we’ll go someday,” Louis says softly. “When we’re both ready, you’ll take me so I can thank Shuri in person for keeping you safe.”

“She comes out here sometimes,” Bucky remembers. “There’s a community center up in Oakland that she’s involved with, and she does consultant work for S.H.I.E.L.D. occasionally. The LA affiliate is hosting a huge international technology and public welfare conference in a few months. Jemma asked me to participate, but I refused.”

“Naturally.”

“But she’ll be here for that, and so will Peter, actually. Maybe we could have them both over.”

“That would be lovely,” Louis says. “A proper dinner party like a proper couple.”

“I could cook,” Bucky realizes.

“I certainly couldn’t,” Louis says, kissing Bucky’s jaw. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. I’d love to meet your friends.”

“Then I’ll set something up,” Bucky says. “I’m sure they’d love to meet you, too.”

He’s never invited friends over, but he thinks these are the things that couples are supposed to do. It might even turn out to be fun. Marcel will be pleased either way.

*

Bucky wakes up one night, and Louis isn’t there.

 _Louis isn’t there_.

He knows he isn’t supposed to panic. Whenever he’s panicked before, Louis has been fine, and Bucky was catastrophizing for no reason. He knows that, but knowing that doesn’t mean Bucky is automatically relaxed and calm in the face of this unexpected development.

But Bucky takes a deep breath, and then another, and then a third. And then he gets out of bed to find Louis.

He walks down the hall to Freddie’s room. The door is partially ajar, and he steps in cautiously and immediately sees that Louis is curled up in Freddie’s bed and the two of them are absolutely safe. Clifford is sleeping on the rug at the foot of Freddie’s bed, and he lifts his head at the intrusion, then lowers it when he sees that it’s just Bucky.

At first, Bucky thinks that Louis is asleep, but as he steps closer, Louis blearily blinks up at him. It’s a little after 3am, and that’s too late for Louis to still be awake. He looks exhausted and stressed, not the sleep-soft Louis he’s used to waking up beside.

“Lou?” Bucky asks softly, stepping closer.

“Don’t,” Louis says, and his voice is raspy and tired. “Stay back. He’s sick, and I don’t want you catching it.”

“I don’t get sick,” Bucky says gently. There’s no more room in the bed, Louis’ half-falling off the edge as it is, so Bucky crouches down beside them.

“You don’t…? Of course you don’t,” Louis mutters. “Makes sense. Never realized it.”

Bucky reaches out and brushes the sweaty hair from Louis’ forehead. His body temperature feels only slightly elevated, which is a good sign. He’s probably just running a little hot due to his proximity to Freddie, who is burning up with fever, his face flushed, his breathing labored and too audible. Looking at the two of them crammed into that tiny bed makes Bucky’s heart feel strange and claustrophobic. There’s nothing Louis can do for Freddie right now, but if Freddie needs looking after, Bucky can help with that so Louis doesn’t have to.

“I don’t get sick,” Bucky repeats, brushing his thumb along Louis’ sharp cheekbones, “and I don’t need to sleep. Please go back to bed, babe. I’ll stay with him.”

“I should stay,” Louis says, looking down worriedly at Freddie. “What if he needs me?”

“I promise I’ll get you if he needs you,” Bucky says. “But he needs a dad who’s rested and energized and at his best to take care of him. You have to sleep, Louis.”

“You promise you’ll come get me?” Louis asks, looking up at him. There are deep purple bags under his serious eyes, and Bucky would do absolutely anything for him.

“I swear,” Bucky says. He leans over and kisses Louis’ damp forehead. “I love you. I promise I can handle this.”

“Okay,” Louis says softly. He sits up, wincing as Freddie whimpers in his sleep. He presses his warm hand to Bucky’s cheek and softly pecks his lips. “Love you. Thank you. Lemme get out of the way so I can tuck you in.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky protests, but he knows better than to go against what Louis wants when it comes to his son, so he slides into the narrow bed and pulls Freddie’s too-hot body fully on top of his.

“Course I do,” Louis mutters. “Can’t let me boys go to bed without being tucked in properly.” He pulls the lightweight Spider-man blanket up around the two of them and fusses over it a bit before tousling Freddie’s hair and giving Bucky another brief kiss. “Fuck, I’m knackered.”

“Get some sleep,” Bucky says quietly, careful not to disturb Freddie who is now asleep on top of him, drooling placidly onto his t-shirt, weakly rasping with each exhale. “We’re fine here.”

“Love you both,” Louis says with a crooked smile. “Thank you.”

He hesitates a moment, and then he snatches up Freddie’s Winter Soldier doll and hugs it to his chest.

“If he’s taking my Bucky, then I’m taking his,” Louis says defensively. “Just for tonight, anyway. He can have this back in the morning.”

Bucky laughs quietly, and Louis grins sleepily at him before making his way out of the room with Clifford in pursuit. Bucky hears the two of them padding down the hall together, and he traces the sound of their footsteps all the way back to the master bedroom. The door closes with a muffled thump, and then Bucky can’t hear them anymore, and it’s just him and Freddie.

Freddie sleeps, but he’s not restful. He’s moving his legs constantly, kicking at something that isn’t there. His breathing is noisy, a gravelly little snore that sounds painful. Bucky holds perfectly still, one of his hands spanning Freddie’s entire warm little back, and he keeps watch.

After an hour or so, Freddie yawns and rubs his head into Bucky’s neck, managing to get a sharp elbow into Bucky’s ribs as well.

“Dad?” he mutters, and his voice is hoarse.

“No,” Bucky says softly, rubbing small circles over Freddie’s back. “It’s just me, little superhero. Do you want me to go get your dad?”

“No,” Freddie says, grumpily poking at Bucky’s chest. “Dad’s softer to sleep on.”

“Do you want me to put you back on the bed?” Bucky asks. There isn’t room for them to lie side by side, but Bucky can sit or stand, he’ll be fine, just as long as Freddie is comfortable.

“No,” Freddie says, closing his eyes with a labored sigh and burrowing into Bucky’s body. “Just sayin’. G’night, Bucky.”

“Night, Freddie.” Bucky presses a tentative kiss to Freddie’s forehead. Freddie mumbles something that Bucky can’t quite make out, and he’s back to sleep almost instantly.

It’s another day before Freddie’s fever breaks. An entire day of Louis fretting and fussing, Bucky trying to keep Freddie comfortable while also preventing Louis from getting sick, Louis insisting that he doesn’t _care_ , he’ll be fine, and Freddie milking everyone’s attention for all that he’s worth because he’s a Tomlinson down to his core, dramatic and sly and happiest when everyone’s focus is fixed directly on him.

*

Bucky has lived with Louis for more than a year now, but this is the first time he’s invited guests over. This is their home, has been for a while, and some of Louis’ friends have dropped by over the last several months. But now they are hosting Bucky’s friends, inviting them over to bear witness to what Bucky has managed to transform his life into. There’s something very powerful and very nerve-wracking about that.

“Are you bricking it, love?” Louis asks as Bucky crouches in front of the lower oven and peers anxiously through the door at the lasagna cooking away inside.

“Does that mean fucking terrified?” Bucky mutters. Should the cheese be bubbling this much? He has absolutely no idea. He should have practiced. “If so, then yes, I’m absolutely fucking bricking it.” 

“Everything is going to be fine,” Louis says, ruffling his fingers through the hair at the back of Bucky’s neck. “Anyway, I’m the one who should be terrified. They already like you. I still need to win them over.”

Louis’ voice sounds light, but Bucky picks up on the uncertain tones lingering around the margins of his words, even though he can barely comprehend the idea of Louis ever being nervous to meet someone new. His funny and sweet and charming Louis can win anyone over without even trying; Bucky is the one who is awkward and uncomfortable. It’s almost laughable, but only almost. Because if Louis is actually anxious, then it is Bucky’s job to reassure him without invalidating his feelings.

“They’re going to love you,” Bucky says, standing up and turning around to face Louis. “You’ve already met Peter, and that was fine. Shuri is harder to win over, but she’ll see your generous heart, and she respects that sort of thing. They’re both going to make fun of me incessantly in very different ways, but they’re going to see how happy you’ve made me, and they’re both going to love you for it.” He catches one of Louis’ hands in both of his and gives it a long squeeze. “I promise.”

“I’m fuckin’ mad about you,” Louis says softly. He cups Bucky’s face with his free hand, brushing his thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, because sometimes, there’s just nothing to say. The moment is already perfect and delicate and complete on its own. He steps closer and lightly touches his mouth to Louis’, and they kiss so gently that they’re barely even moving, just the slightest brush of lips against lips, steady and constant and sustained. And Bucky knows they’ll get through this night just like they’ve gotten through everything else so far: together.

The sound of the doorbell pulls them from their fragile reverie.

“Guess that’s them,” Louis says, and he gives Bucky one last kiss, and then he takes a step back and uses his reflection in the upper oven door as a mirror to fix his hair.

“You look perfect,” Bucky says.

“That’s enough out of you,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes, but he looks pleased. Louis slips his hand into Bucky’s, and they walk towards the front door together.

“Don’t interrupt Shuri when she’s talking,” Bucky murmurs as they walk. “Don’t try to explain anything to her. Assume she knows more than you about absolutely everything, because she probably does.”

“What about Peter?”

“He knows a lot, too, but you can interrupt him as much as you like.” Bucky gives Louis’ hand a quick squeeze. “I’ve got your six, all night long, no matter what. I’m not going to abandon you to the wolves.”

“It’s not the wolves I’m worried about,” Louis mutters. “Just panthers and spiders, innit?”

Bucky shakes his head with a smile and opens the front door. Peter and Shuri are standing there at the front stoop, heads tilted towards each other and laughing, and just like that, easy and natural as anything, Bucky’s worlds have collided and commingled.

“White Wolf,” Shuri greets him, and fuck, but Bucky has missed her. There’s a soothing familiarity to the way her accent hugs the shape of his old nickname. He hasn’t seen her in so long. Too long.

“Princess,” he says with a small smile. The word is heavy in his throat, weighed down with unexpected nostalgia. She grins at him then, toothy and jubilant, like life is for living to its fullest, like it’s okay to hold tight to the best parts of the past and leave the bad parts forgotten in your wake, like there is pleasure to be taken in every small thing on the way to a future full of possibility. It’s a Wakandan attitude, one he had learned and then unlearned.

They salute each other, arms crossed against their chests, and it feels good to be doing this here with her. For most of his time in Wakanda, Bucky only had one arm, and he adapted to most things and needed less help than he’d feared. But he couldn’t partake in the two-armed salute that Wakandans used to demonstrate their bone-deep patriotism to the gorgeous ideals of a gorgeous nation, one that Bucky held deep in his heart. He remembers receiving a new arm just before the war, and almost every part of that was bad, and the only part that was good was the feeling of crossing his arms over his chest to say “Wakanda forever” for the first time. In that moment, he knew he would die to protect that country and her people. And he did, in a way. And it’s nothing short of miraculous that they can all meet again here, thousands of miles away.

“I’m here too, guys,” Peter pipes in.

“Wait until the grown-ups are done talking,” Bucky says flatly, knowing full well that Peter and Shuri are the same age, but then he notices something. “There isn’t a car parked in my driveway.”

“There is not,” Shuri agrees, eyes wide and innocent.

“Did you land a shielded quinjet in my yard? Don’t tell me you parked a fucking quinjet on the lawn. The grass takes forever to grow with all the water restrictions.”

“Mr. Coulson doesn’t let me use the quinjets,” Peter says. “Besides, Shuri invented something better.”

“You’re better off not knowing,” Shuri says, and Bucky believes her. “If that’s all anyone has to say on various modes of transportation, can we come inside so I can meet the mystery man you’ve been hiding from me all these years?”

“Guess that’s me,” Louis says from beside Bucky. There’s an unnatural pitch to his voice, but he doesn’t waver. Shuri steps forward into the house, and Peter follows, closing the door after them. She looks at Louis curiously, taking him in from head to toe, and Bucky slings a reassuring arm around his waist to remind him that they are in this together.

“This is my Louis,” Bucky says as Shuri completes her silent assessment.

“He’s not what I would have imagined your type to be,” Shuri says eventually. “Although to be quite honest, I’m not sure I thought you even had a type.”

“I’m not sure I had a type either,” Bucky says. Even after all this time, it’s so easy to be honest with Shuri. “I just have Louis. I think he’s the only person I could love.”

“Then how lucky you are to have found each other,” she says, and she breaks into a brilliant smile. She steps forward and nods at Louis, who quickly nods back at her. “I am very pleased to meet you, Louis. A good man who I care about has entrusted you with his heart, and that’s a very high honor indeed.”

“I know,” Louis says softly. “And I know I never would have had the chance without you. Thank you for taking care of him before I could.”

“He’s my finest creation,” she says with a teasing smile.

“I’m _still here_ ,” Peter whines.

“No, you’re not,” Shuri says cheerfully. “You cease to exist when we have our backs to you. It’s simple physics.”

“That’s not how physics works,” Peter grumbles.

“Thank you for coming over,” Bucky says to Peter, and he surprises himself by meaning it deeply, and he further surprises himself _and_ Peter by reaching out to him and giving him a hug. “I’m glad you’re here.” And he is. He’s here, in Bucky’s home, and Bucky is glad.

“Louis, get your robot boyfriend to heel,” Peter says, but his words don’t carry any weight, and his arms are tight and sure around Bucky.

Louis takes them on a tour of the downstairs, leading them through the foyer and the kitchen and the elegant dining room they never use and the den they almost never leave and the patio overlooking the backyard. It’s a huge amount of space, and it’s still only a small part of the house, and Bucky is mostly used to it now, but he sees it through Peter and Shuri’s eyes, and he’s proud, but he’s also self-conscious.

“You’ve come a long way from a hut in Wakanda,” Shuri says.

“I loved the huts of Wakanda,” Bucky says. That place is still perfect in his mind, an untouched sanctuary that he left against his will, not because it was lacking in any way, and he needs to be sure Shuri knows that. “That’s the happiest I ever was, before I came here.”

“I love the huts of Wakanda, too,” Shuri says. “But the man I met there is not the man before me now. You traveled a very long journey in your mind to find yourself, White Wolf.”

“Okay, what’s this White Wolf thing about?” Louis asks. “Why do you keep calling him that?”

“How did it start?” Shuri asks with a frown. “I don’t remember.”

“It was the kids,” Bucky reminds her. He remembers their faces vividly for a moment, and then they slip back into the past. He wonders how old they would be now. Would he even recognize them?

“That’s right, the children,” Shuri recalls. “They had never seen a fair-skinned man before. This was before foreigners were allowed in Wakanda. That’s what they called him, and it stuck. _Ingcuka emhlophe_. An adopted wolf brother for the panther king.”

“Don’t see you as a wolf,” Louis says, tilting his head.

“He wasn’t at first,” Shuri says. “But you learned from the pack, didn’t you, Sergeant?”

“I learned from you,” Bucky says.

“You learned stuff from me, too,” Peter interjects. “I taught Bucky how to drive. That was me.”

“HYDRA programmed me with driving skills,” Bucky argues. “You just taught me modern traffic laws. That’s not the same thing at all. Stop telling people you taught me how to drive.”

“I’m also the one who told you who Louis even _was_ , and I told you he was into dudes, and I basically set the two of you up and made all of this even happen and I deserve a lot more credit for that,” Peter says with a frown. “I’m totally that crab dude from _The Little Mermaid_. It’s an old movie. You wouldn’t have seen it.”

“I live with a six year old,” Bucky reminds him. “I know Disney movies, so I can tell you with great authority that your analogy is terrible.”

“Did you really, though?” Louis asks, looking curiously at Peter. “Obviously you’re exaggerating your role, but did you have a hand in us?”

“I did,” Peter says defensively. “I Googled you and everything.”

“He’s right,” Bucky admits slowly. “I mean, only to a point. I did most of it myself. But he helped a little bit.”

“I helped,” Peter says with a pleased grin. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“I guess that means he’s earned the right,” Bucky says, turning to Louis with a wry smile. “You can show him Freddie’s Spider-man bedroom, I suppose.”

“No way!” Peter says, eyes lighting up. “I get to see the Spider-baby’s shrine to me?”

“That’s what you get for spending eight-tenths of a second looking up Louis’ name on Wikipedia for me,” Bucky says with a shrug.

Louis leads their guests upstairs to peek into Freddie’s room, and Bucky can hear Peter babbling away with excitement while he finishes up with dinner and sets the table. Everything is just about ready by the time they come back down, and they all sit down at the fancy dining table that has not been used a single time since Bucky moved in. Probably not even since Louis moved in, if Bucky had to guess.

“You cooked all this?” Shuri asks, taking in the spread. “I knew you could prepare a little bit of food, but this is more than I’d expected.”

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Peter taught me how to cook,” Bucky says drolly as he dishes up lasagna for each of them. “He taught me everything I know. I’d be barely functional if he hadn’t taken me under his wing to show me the ways of the world.”

“It’s true,” Peter says, accepting his plate and immediately digging in. “Wow, this is actually good. I was sure we’d have to pretend to eat it and then stop by In-N-Out on the way back.”

“Can you fly a quinjet through the In-N-Out drive-thru?” Louis wonders, taking his seat next to Bucky.

“It’s _not_ a quinjet,” Shuri says, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, “and this is delicious. Thank you for inviting us to share your table.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Bucky says, and he means so much with those two words that he says them again. “Thank you, Shuri.” _Thank you for the compliment on my cooking. Thank you for coming here to our house and approving of what Louis and I have built together. Thank you for being kind to him. Thank you for saving me so many times over so many years. Thank you for every choice you’ve made that helped me become the person I am with the life I have. Thank you, thank you, thank you._

“Shall we have a toast?” Louis asks, popping the caps off a few bottles of craft beer and distributing them. Bucky knows that Louis normally prefers something cheaper, but they’d wanted to opt for something a little fancier without swinging the pendulum all the way to wine, so upscale beer seemed like a decent compromise.

“Bucky is the one who brought us all together,” Shuri says, meeting his eyes, “so let him lead the toast.”

He has just one moment of panic, because he hasn’t planned anything, he doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t want to open his mouth and let anything stupid spill out to ruin this night that is actually going so well. But Shuri’s gaze is still locked on his, one eyebrow slightly quirked, and he sees the kindness on her face, and he knows she believes in him. And in some ways, she knows his mind better than anyone, even himself. She has seen all of his neural connections, mapped every corner of his brain. She knows who he is, and who he was, and who he has the potential to become.

“Go on, love,” Louis murmurs, giving Bucky’s thigh a squeeze under the table, and Bucky nods, lifting his beer bottle a few inches off the table. He looks at Louis gratefully, and then he looks at Shuri, and at Peter, and something inside him feels settled and whole.

“All my favorite people are here in one room,” he realizes out loud. “You’re all here together in my home, and I’m glad for that. Thank you for being in my life.”

“To second chances,” Peter offers.

“Think I’ve gone through a few more than that,” Bucky says with a wry chuckle.

“To as many chances as it takes to get it right,” Louis says softly, and Bucky nods, and they all drink.

The food is good, and the conversation is shockingly easy. It’s easy to talk with the people he cares about, to ask what they’ve been up to since he’s seen then. He is interested in their lives, and it’s easy to ask them questions and to answer the ones they ask of him.

Peter’s finished with college and is taking some time off to intern at S.H.I.E.L.D. while he considers applying to grad school. He has too many interests (and too many talents, if Bucky is being honest), and it’s hard for him to narrow down a specific field of study when all he really wants to do is learn everything and help everyone.

Shuri is busy setting up Wakandan International Outreach Centers all over the globe. There are thirty-nine locations now, four in the United States alone, and she’s currently trying to secure funding for one in Los Angeles. She is very picky about who she will accept money from, and she won’t take any donations with strings or agendas attached, so it’s a slower process than she’d hoped. There are too many galas and fundraiser dinners and not enough _helping people_ , but she’s optimistic.

“Is there some way that I should be doing more to help people?” Bucky idly wonders. He gives away a lot of money, donates to every charitable cause that Jemma suggests for him, but he doesn’t actively get involved. Most of his skillset seems better suited to violence, intimidation, destruction. Some of it might translate into helping people, but he’s just...never tried to be that guy.

“Help yourself just a bit longer,” Shuri suggests. “Then, I can teach you how to help other people.”

“That seems selfish.”

“Maybe,” Shuri agrees. “And if you were anyone else in the world, I might say there’s no excuse to hesitate when you could be getting involved now and making a change. But for you and you alone, White Wolf, I say give yourself a little more time to get settled and focused and learn who you are and what you’re capable of. You could do a lot of good now, I’m sure. Or you could wait and become the kind of tool that changes the world on a global scale.”

“I’ve been that kind of tool before,” Bucky says. He’s changed the world, but only for the worse. Governments fell because of the Winter Soldier. Widespread international catastrophe followed in his wake. “That’s what I was, once.”

“Then maybe you owe it to the world to be that tool again,” Shuri says. “Prepare yourself to fight the good fight this time around, and let me know when you’re ready.”

“I can fight the good fight, too,” Louis says. “Dunno how much help I’d be, but I’ll give it me best shot.”

“There’s a spot for everyone in the revolution,” Shuri says, a secretive smile curling at her lips. “Even an OG colonizer.”

“Am I a colonizer?” Louis asks, squinting at her. “Think I’m technically an illegal immigrant.”

“That’s precisely what a colonizer is,” Shuri says firmly, and Louis shrugs and has another bite of lasagna.

“Wait,” Bucky says. This is new information. “You’re here illegally?”

“Well,” Louis says with a guilty expression. “I’m here on a work visa, and I haven’t worked in about four years now, so...maybe?”

“I bet S.H.I.E.L.D. would pay you for babysitting Bucky,” Peter quips.

Bucky and Louis both turn to him with ferocious glares, and Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Say that again,” Louis demands, and Peter shakes his head.

“I know for a fact that I could take down each one of you individually,” Peter says, “but the two of you together are actually pretty terrifying.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, and then he turns to Louis. “Do you really not have a visa? What if they try to make you leave?” What the fuck would Bucky even do if the government tried to take Louis away from him? How did the two of them overlook this?

“You could always have a green card wedding,” Peter says.

Shuri and Louis both laugh, but Bucky does not. Because the idea of Louis marrying some woman to gain citizenship and stay in this country is not funny, not even to joke about. Even if it didn’t mean anything, even if it was just a way to trick the government so Louis could stay with Bucky, the idea of Louis sharing that with kind of commitment with someone else is horrifying. Briana? Do they mean Briana? Over Bucky’s dead fucking body.

“And who exactly would he be marrying?” Bucky demands. Three incredulous sets of eyes turn to look at him.

“You,” Peter finally says. He waits a few more seconds before adding, “Dumbass.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, and he looks down at his hands in his lap. He supposes he knew that it was legal for men to marry each other now, but he’s never thought about it. It never occurred to him that they would do something like that. He’s never even considered if it’s something he wants, and he wonders how Louis feels about it. He realizes that he should know how Louis feels. They should have discussed this, probably.

It’s just...Bucky never thought he’d get married. When he was drafted back in the forties, that closed a lot of doors for him. He thought he’d just go off to war and die young like all the rest of them, and the idea of getting married seemed off the table. And he never revisited that, not even once he found himself here in the present, in a serious relationship with someone he loves deeply and wants to spend his life with.

Maybe he should have thought about it. Maybe he should have initiated the conversation. He just always trusts Louis to take the lead and let them know when it’s time for their relationship to progress. Louis asked Bucky out for that first date. Louis was the one who asked if they could be boyfriends. Louis asked him to move in. Bucky always had a say in the matter, but Louis has been the one to ask, always.

Maybe this time, Louis was waiting for Bucky to ask.

“I’m not getting deported,” Louis says lightly, “and no one is getting married tonight.” He slips his hand under the table, finds Bucky’s without looking, and gives him a long squeeze, and Bucky squeezes back, grounding himself to the moment. “Tell me more about how all of you met.”

“I met Bucky in an airport,” Peter says. “He tried to punch me with his metal arm, and then I kicked the shit out of him, and it was awesome, and it was only the first fight I’d ever been in.”

“I did try to punch you with my arm, but then your squeaky voice alerted me to the fact that you were a child,” Bucky corrects. “So I pulled my punches and let you win because I don’t hurt kids.”

“Either way, I won,” Peter says.

“I believe thirty percent of the words that leave your mouth, maximum,” Louis says. “Shuri, what about you, love? What was your first impression of Bucky?”

“You mean when I walked back into my lab and saw that someone had left me a one-armed Caucasian popsicle to deprogram?” she says drolly. “Such a gift, and it wasn’t even my birthday.”

“You had fun figuring me out,” Bucky says with a smile. “Finally, a real challenge for you.”

“Not that challenging,” she says with a shrug.

Louis has been looking back and forth between the two of them with an uneasy expression.

“Bucky told me not to correct you,” he says eventually, “but I’ve never been one to bite me tongue.” He takes a deep breath and turns to Shuri, saying, “It’s still his arm, even if it’s a prosthetic one. He’s got two of ‘em, even if they’re not perfectly matched. He’s not one-armed.”

“He was one-armed when I met him, and for most of the time I knew him,” Shuri says lightly. “But I appreciate your intention in defending him, even if you are incorrect.”

“Hold on, really?” Louis asks Bucky with a frown, but he can’t answer right away. Because Shuri is right. Louis’ intentions towards Bucky are so noble, even when they’re misplaced. Bucky has never seen himself as someone who needed defending, but Louis finds ways to do it anyway. Bucky wonders if that’s the type of person you’re supposed to marry. He thinks maybe it is.

“Sorry, what was the question?” he asks when he realizes everyone is staring at him expectantly.

“Your arm,” Louis says gently. “You didn’t have it when you met Shuri?”

“No,” he says slowly, trying to rebuild the timeline in his mind. The closer events get to his time in Wakanda, the more they all tend to run together in his mind. “No, I lost it in in a fight.” It was blown off when he and Iron Man were beating the shit out of each other, and it fucking _hurt_ , but Bucky looks at Peter sitting nearby, naive and expectant, and he decides it’s okay to omit that detail. No reason to drag up old shit that no one can do anything about.

“And you didn’t put it back on?” Louis asks Shuri.

“I offered to!” she protests. “Do you think I wouldn’t seize the chance to make a dozen different prototypes? They gave me the old arm when they gave me him, and I studied it, but he wouldn’t let me reattach it or any of the new ones I made, even though they were _really cool_.”

“I didn’t realize,” Louis says. “How long?”

“A few years,” Bucky says. “It sucked at first. Learning how to do things one-handed. Getting dressed, training, tending the animals--”

“Putting his hair up into a glorious man-bun,” Shuri interjects.

“Putting my hair up into a glorious man-bun,” Bucky confirms. “It took time to learn, but...I had a lot of time to spare. And I learned it all eventually.”

“Not the man-bun,” Shuri says. “You still had the kids doing that for you right until the end.”

“I let the kids think I needed help with my hair because I liked having them around and they liked feeling useful,” Bucky corrects her.

“That’s adorable,” Louis says with a small smile. “So how’d you end up with this arm, then?”

“Had a different one in between,” Bucky says slowly, remembering.

“It was sick as fuck, and he refused to keep it,” Shuri complains.

“It was given to me specifically to fight a war, and I didn’t want to carry around that reminder for the rest of my life,” Bucky says. “But you’re right, it was sick as fuck. Just didn’t like the memories that came with it.”

“I still could’ve taken you, even with the indestructible arm,” Peter says confidently.

“You weren’t even _there_ ,” Bucky says in exasperation.

“I’ve made some advances,” Shuri says. “I’m working on a new generation of nanotechnology, and I’ve created some incredibly realistic synthetic skin grafts. If you ever want an arm that looks like an arm and not like metal, I could show you some prototypes.”

Years ago, Bucky would’ve jumped at the opportunity. Now, he’s not so interested in a change. He’s not the only one affected, though. Maybe Louis would like to have a boyfriend who looks more symmetric, not so shiny, less artificial. He hopes not, but he doesn’t know for sure.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks Louis.

“Dunno that it matters to me,” Louis hedges, looking from Bucky to Shuri and back again. “You know I love your arm.”

“Thank you,” Bucky and Shuri say in unison and then glare at each other.

“I built it,” she reminds him.

“I chose it,” he says simply, and she nods.

He did choose it. He couldn’t go back to having only one arm after he learned about the new dangers out there in the world. He needed both arms to defend himself, even if that meant closing the door on the part of himself that just wanted to live a simple life in Wakanda, tending to animals and learning the Xhosa language (so fucking tricky, so different from any other language he knows, so rewarding when he finally got it right). He couldn’t stay there and pretend the outside world didn’t exist. That wasn’t a possibility for him anymore.

Shuri kept trying to give him vibranium arms, and they were sleek and gorgeous in ways that his current arm is not. But they were also made of a near-indestructible metal, and Bucky didn’t want to be the kind of person who needed something like that. He was willing to wear the arm again as a tool, but not as a weapon. He gave Shuri his specifications, and she designed an arm for him that looked a lot like his first metal arm, but more lightweight, more responsive, more sensitive to touch and pressure, less violent overall. It was built to be strong, and he learned how to make it be gentle, and in that way, it became a part of him, and it was truly his arm.

His other arms were forcibly taken from him, new ones grafted on without his consent. This was the only arm he ever got to choose for himself, and he wants to keep it for a long, long time.

“It’s a good arm,” Louis says. “You both did a good job with it.”

“You don’t want me to trade it in so you can have a boyfriend with two normal arms?” Bucky asks, and he’s half-joking, but he’s half-serious.

“Your arms are normal to me,” Louis says, and he places his hand on Bucky’s metal elbow, warming him gently. “This is how you’ve always looked to me. This has always been your arm for as long as I’ve known you.”

“Nauseatingly cute,” Peter grumbles under his breath, but Bucky and Louis both ignore him.

They finish up with their food, and then Louis stands and starts to clear the table, which he has not done without being asked one single time in all the years that Bucky has known him. Bucky is not sure he even knows how to work the dishwasher. But Shuri gathers the rest of the dishes, and the two of them walk together into the kitchen. Shuri is literally the smartest person Bucky has ever known; she’ll figure out the dishwasher if Louis can’t.

“You want another beer?” Bucky asks Peter, grabbing one for himself from the bucket of ice on the table where Louis had arranged them all earlier. Bucky thinks the bucket is supposed to be for chilling champagne, but fuck it, they’re being fancy tonight.

“Sure, I’ll have one,” Peter says, and Bucky hands over the one he just opened, taking a new one for himself. The water from the melted ice runs down the slippery side of the bottle, pooling on the table, and Bucky runs his fingers through it, pushing the liquid back and forth to help it evaporate. They drink their beer slowly and quietly, and it’s nice.

“Do you think about coming out here for grad school, or are you set on staying back east?” Bucky asks after a few minutes.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Peter says. “I guess it depends on where I get in.”

“You’re Spider-man,” Bucky reminds him incredulously. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to get in anywhere you apply.”

“Maybe,” Peter says. “I’m not sure I even want to. Sometimes, I think about all the things I’ve seen, and school just feels so...trivial.”

“I understand that.”

“Plus, there’s a girl, I guess? I don’t know. It’s nothing. She’s in Boston. I don’t know.”

“I understand that, too,” Bucky says with a grin. “Not a girl, specifically. But a person. I get how a person can make your plans change.”

“How do you...know?” Peter asks quietly. “Like, how do you know if someone wants to be with you because they actually like you, or if they just like some other version of you they imagined in their head before they even met you?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says honestly. “Shit, when I met Louis for the first time, he said I was one of his heroes. What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Probably meant he wanted to fuck an Avenger,” Peter says.

“Probably,” Bucky agrees. “Back then, at the very start, that very first time we talked, I don’t think he knew much about who I even was. I think if it was you or Sam or anyone else, he might have said the same thing. Which is crazy to think about, considering where we are now.”

“So then how do you weed out the bad people?” Peter asks. “Why did you even go out with him?”

“I just knew there was something good about him,” Bucky says. He remembers Louis’ easy smile, the way he was so gentle and silly with Freddie, how he was so open with his intentions and generous with his patience, even when Bucky ended up being nothing like what he’d expected.

“How did you get from there to here?”

“Slowly,” Bucky says with a smile. “Look, I made it clear pretty early on that I had nothing glamorous or exciting to offer him. He knew I would be a difficult, challenging person to be with. It would have been easier to not be with me than to be with me. He knew it, and he chose to try anyway. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

“It feels dumb to build my life around something that might not last,” Peter says quietly, running his thumb along the lip of the bottle. “I know that other people do it all the time, but do we really get to have that?”

“If anyone deserves a little bit of self-indulgence, I’d say it’s us,” Bucky says. “You more than me. You’ve given a lot, and sometimes, you’re just due some getting.”

“I know you probably just see me as a kid--”

“I don’t,” Bucky interjects forcefully. “Shit, I don’t. Look, you went through a lot at a young age. You took on a lot of responsibility. But you didn’t let any of it harden you. You didn’t get defeated or cynical, and I respect that.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks, his brow scrunched up in confusion.

“Yeah,” Bucky says simply. He’s not used to sharing his feelings with people who aren’t Louis or Marcel, but there’s something delicious about the way it feels to finally let people know that he appreciates them, that he cares about them. “I admire you. I’m proud to know you.”

“Well, fuck. Thanks,” Peter says, ducking his head. “I admire you, too, you know.”

“Thank you.” Bucky would normally protest something like that, but tonight, he’s feeling good. He invited his friends over and opened up his home and his heart to them, and he feels like the best version of himself he’s ever been. He’s proud of himself and how far he’s come, and tonight, he will accept the compliment gracefully.

“This is nice,” Peter says, picking the bottle cap off the table and flicking it between his fingers so it spins. “I like just sitting and having a beer with you. We’ve never done this.”

“You’ve never been of age before,” Bucky says. “Look, I’ve happily assassinated multiple world leaders because my HYDRA handlers told me to, but corrupting the youth of America with alcohol is a bridge too far.”

“Not that,” Peter says, and he’s smiling a little, but he’s serious. “I mean just sitting with you and talking, man to man. Like friends.”

“We are friends,” Bucky says awkwardly. Peter’s right that they never do this. But he’s also right that it’s nice.

“I’m glad,” Peter says simply.

“Cheers,” Bucky says, and he clinks his bottle into Peter’s before downing the rest of his drink. “I should probably go check on Louis and Shuri. They’ve been gone a suspiciously long time.”

“Louis’ probably fine,” Peter says. “Shuri probably didn’t kill him. I know she’s smart, but don’t forget that I’m the strongest one here.”

“I don’t think even _you_ believe that,” Bucky says with a grin, clapping Peter on the shoulder. Like friends do.

It’s been a spectacular night.

Feeling strangely, unfamiliarly euphoric, Bucky walks down the hall towards the kitchen, where he can hear the sounds of Louis and Shuri laughing. It makes him happy that they are getting along so well. He lingers in the doorway, hanging back where they can’t see him, and he listens to their conversation just a moment.

“Thank you for being here,” Louis says. “It means a lot to both of us that you came.”

“It means a lot to me that I was invited,” Shuri says. “He doesn’t ask for much, so when he does, I am happy to deliver.”

“I wanted to ask you something,” Louis asks quietly. “Well, ask you _for_ something. A favor, I guess.”

“You are free to ask,” she says, sounding a little cooler, “but I won’t agree to a request before I’ve heard it.”

Bucky knows he should go in there immediately, put a stop to whatever dumb request Louis is about to make even though Bucky told him specifically not to ask Shuri for any cool tech shit, not to question her like this in any way. Shuri hates being approached for favors, especially from white men she doesn’t know very well. Louis knows better, and Bucky needs to stop this before it turns into a disaster, but he feels frozen in the doorway.

“Sometimes,” Louis says, and his voice is so soft that Bucky can barely hear it, “he struggles with the touchscreen on his phone. It doesn’t always recognize the metal fingers, and I know it’s frustrating for him, but he’d never ask for help. I don’t know if there’s something you can do, either for the screen or for his fingers. I don’t know if he’d even _let_ you.”

“You have a private audience with one of the foremost technological minds of the century, and you’re asking me to fix your boyfriend’s phone?” Shuri asks, and the atmosphere is lighter now, and she sounds almost amused, and Bucky has no idea what’s going on.

“I am, yeah,” Louis agrees. “I know it’s trivial, but it bothers him.”

It does bother him. He fucking hates it, and it’s getting to the point where he doesn’t even want to use his phone because trying to type out a message is so frustrating. He leaves more texts unanswered than he would like just because the process is so unwieldy. He hates it so much, but Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever complained about it to Louis. But Louis noticed anyway. Bucky shouldn’t be surprised by these things anymore, but he still is, every time.

“I can talk to him about it,” Shuri says gently. “You’re right that he might not let me, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate us talking about him. But if I can help him, I will.”

“Thank you,” Louis says. “I can help with other things, but I can’t help with the technological shit. And I hate when I can’t help.”

“How’s he doing?” Shuri asks. “Does he still get nightmares?”

“Sometimes,” Louis says hesitantly. “But I sometimes get nightmares, too. Dunno that there’s anything out of the ordinary about that. He’s doing really well. Heaps better than a few years ago.”

“You’ve done wonders for him,” Shuri says.

“Not sure about all that,” Louis says.

“I am,” Shuri says. “I’m very sure. He is a special person and a good man, and he deserves someone who appreciates that. I am glad he has found that person in you. Thank you for being so generous with your love towards someone I care for very much.”

“Thank _you_ for everything you’ve done for him,” Louis says. “My life is so good with him in it, and I wouldn’t be able to have any of this if you hadn’t helped him.”

This is all starting to make Bucky feel emotions that are a little bit unbearable, so he chooses that moment to walk into the room.

“Stop talking about me,” he says. They startle at his sudden entrance.

“You heard every word of that, didn’t you?” Louis asks guiltily.

“Of course I did,” Bucky says, but he smiles so they know he’s not mad. “Can you go make sure Peter isn’t stealing anything? I need to talk to Shuri.”

“Course,” Louis says. Bucky reaches for him as he passes by, holding him by the waist and lightly kissing his forehead. He loves this man, even if he’s incapable of minding his own business. He needs Louis to know that he loves him and he’s not upset. Louis smiles at him, brilliant and sunny, and he gives Bucky’s wrist a quick squeeze, and then he leaves the room to check on Peter.

“I like him,” Shuri says.

“Me too,” Bucky agrees. “He’s my favorite.”

“He’s very protective of you. That’s nice to see. I’m very glad you found each other.”

Bucky knew, on some level, that he cared about Shuri’s approval, but he didn’t realize how vividly he craved it until the exact moment when he realizes that he has it. And it hits him all at once, this wave of validation from one of the most important people in his life. He’s so blessed. He’s so fucking blessed.

“Do you want to come in for a tune-up?” Shuri asks. “I could very easily link your arm to your phone so that you don’t even have to properly touch the screen. It’s a simple calibration process.”

“I’ll come by,” Bucky says. “If you could do full diagnostics on the arm, I’d appreciate it. Maybe also a physical once-over, if you don’t mind. S.H.I.E.L.D. monitors me, but they don’t really understand me like you do, and I don’t entirely trust them to tell me even if they do find something wrong.”

“Of course,” Shuri says. “Anything specific you’re looking for? Other than the phone issues?”

“I think so,” Bucky says. There’s something he’s been wondering for a while now, and Shuri is the only person he can trust with it. “Do you think I can get old?”

“I’m not sure,” she says thoughtfully. “A lot of aging is just incremental damage that the body stops fixing. But your body does a pretty good job of fixing everything that goes wrong. The process might slow down, and you might just age very slowly. Or it might all go haywire at once, and you might stay young for a long time and then perish very unexpectedly. Or you might just live forever. It’s hard to know.”

“Could you find out?”

“I can try,” she says gently. “Which outcome were you hoping for?”

“If I could get old,” Bucky whispers. “With him. I think we’d both like that.”

“Yes, I think you would,” Shuri says. She places a hand on each of his shoulders, not squeezing, just lightly resting there. “I cannot promise anything, but I will look into it. And if we can change something, we will change it.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says, and he feels decades of relief crashing down on him. He wants to spend his life with Louis, and then he wants to rest. And if anyone in the world could give this to him, it would be Shuri.

“Of course,” Shuri says. “I am always happy to help you, even if you are rarely happy to accept help. I’m excited for the opportunity to do something important for you.”

“In that case,” Bucky says, “I do have one more favor to ask.”

“We’re really pushing our luck tonight, aren’t we, White Wolf?” Shuri teases.

“It’s easy,” Bucky says, and his heart starts beating faster as he begins to make a decision. “I think it will be easy. I just need you to make something for me.”

*

It turns out that neither Louis nor Shuri even attempted to figure out how to work the dishwasher, so after everyone leaves, Bucky heads back into the kitchen to clean up the dishes. Louis follows him and hops up onto the counter to watch him work.

“I like your friends,” Louis says as Bucky leaves the last pan in the sink to soak. “This was a nice evening.”

“This _was_ a nice evening,” Bucky says, and he feels weirdly light and almost giddy with it all, and something within him decides to add in a few shuffling dance moves as he makes his way back to Louis.

“What was that?” Louis asks with a raised eyebrow as Bucky comes to stand between his legs.

“Lindy hop?” Bucky hazards. He places his hands on Louis’ knees and slowly runs his palms up his thighs. “But don’t quote me on that.” 

“You don’t like to dance,” Louis says. “I remember this very clearly. It was our first date. I said I didn’t want to go out dancing, and you said you didn’t like doing that either.”

“I don’t like drawing attention to myself in public,” Bucky says, rubbing his thumbs into Louis’ quads. “But I like dancing. Or I think I used to. I might still. Don’t really know.”

“All this time I thought you didn’t like it.”

“ _You_ don’t like it,” Bucky says. “And I didn’t see the point in dancing without my best fella.” He leans forward and kisses the side of Louis’ neck. “Fuck, you smell amazing.” It’s been a nice, nice night.

“You could dance with me, if you wanted,” Louis says, his voice a little bit breathy. “Right here in the kitchen. No one else would have to see.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” Louis says. “Would have offered ages ago if I’d known it was something you wanted.”

“I don’t know if it even is,” Bucky says. “It’s been so long. I might not like it anymore.”

“Well, let’s find out,” Louis says, and he hops down from the counter. “Ask me then.”

“There’s no music,” Bucky says. He doesn’t know if he even remembers how to dance. He’s probably going to look silly.

“Alexa, play something romantic from the forties,” Louis says.

A song begins playing over the speakers. It isn’t anything that Bucky recognizes specifically, but there’s something familiar about it anyway. And if it doesn’t shake loose any particular memories, it does rub up against a whole lot of vague impressions. He used to do this. He used to be someone who knew how to do this.

“Come on,” Louis says. “Sweep me off my feet.”

And it’s like playing a role, but the role is him, and it’s familiar and not familiar at the same time. It’s almost like acting, almost like remembering, as he slips into the mannerisms of a man who fell off a train in the forties and died. Bucky isn’t him anymore, but he can still draw from his memory a little bit tonight. And he feels a weird sort of confidence course through him, and a rakish smile crosses his lips as he brings his face close to Louis’, looks him right in the eye as he murmurs, “I’m shipping out tomorrow, doll, and I’d sure love to make some memories with you to keep me warm while I’m over there on the front.”

“Holy shit,” Louis breathes. “Did that used to work? Because it worked just now on me. Fuck. Let’s go, soldier. Jesus, that was charming.”

“C’mere,” Bucky says with a smile, slipping his right arm around Louis to pull him closer and raising his left hand for Louis to take. Louis’ fingers slip easily in between Bucky’s metal ones, and it’s not quite a proper dance hold, but Bucky isn’t going to tell him that.

“Just to warn you, I’m a rubbish dancer,” Louis says.

“You’re perfect,” Bucky replies. “Just follow me. We’ll take it slow.”

He leads them into a simple side-step, two shuffling steps out to the left and then two back to the right. Louis stumbles at first, and some of his steps are a tad off rhythm, but he mostly keeps up.

“I know I probably look so stupid right now,” Louis says, “but I like it. What the fuck, why is this so hot? Jesus, you’re so strong.”

“You like being held down sometimes,” Bucky says, pulling Louis even closer so their bodies are flush and he can’t miss the way Louis shivers. “Maybe you just like being held.”

“Maybe,” Louis says softly. He moves his hand from Bucky’s shoulder to the back of his neck, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “We really could have been doing this since that first date if I hadn’t opened my stupid mouth.”

“Your mouth isn’t stupid,” Bucky says, kissing one corner of Louis’ lips and then the other. “If anything, it’s too smart for its own good. Love this mouth. Besides, we weren’t ready for something like this that first night.”

“You’re right,” Louis says, rubbing his nose against Bucky’s. “That was so long ago. It barely feels real.”

“You said something when we first met,” Bucky says, angling his steps slightly to bring them through a slow turn. Louis doesn’t quite catch on at first, but he follows where Bucky leads. “You said I was a hero of yours. What did you mean by that?”

Louis laughs softly. “Did I say that? I just know I recognized you and thought you were fit. I don’t think it went any deeper than that.”

“That’s what I figured,” Bucky says with a small smile. “You really had no idea what you were getting yourself into.”

“I didn’t,” Louis agrees. “Not a clue. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

Louis goes up on his tiptoes and whispers with his mouth against Bucky’s ear, “You’re my hero now.”

“Thank god you came up to me,” Bucky says quietly. He doesn’t think he could possibly hold Louis any closer than he already is, but he tries anyway. “Thank god you thought I was fit, and we got to have all this.”

“Thank god,” Louis echoes, bringing his left hand to Bucky’s face, tracing the swoop of his eyebrow with the side of his fingertip. “How was there ever a time before I knew you? How did I ever not have this?”

“We got here eventually. We get to have this now,” Bucky says. Fuck, it’s so much to have this now with this man. “Hold on, babe.” He takes a step forward and carefully lowers Louis into a dip, and Louis squeaks in surprise and loops his arms around Bucky’s neck.

“How are you so good at this?” Louis asks when they’re upright again. “You have so much rhythm for someone who doesn’t like music.”

“It’s not about the music,” Bucky says. “Maybe it was for me once, a long time ago. But now I just have really precise control of my muscles, I guess.”

“Teach me,” Louis says, and Bucky nods.

“Just follow my body,” Bucky murmurs. “Just concentrate on the way my muscles feel when they’re working, and let your hips follow my hips.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Louis says, blinking at him, “but I think it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Close your eyes and concentrate,” Bucky says, and Louis’ eyes flutter shut. He looks so beautiful and trusting, awaiting instruction, so Bucky shifts his weight and presses his left thigh into Louis’. “Step back,” Bucky says, and Louis does, and Bucky follows him. “Now step to me,” Bucky says, and Louis’ thigh stays pressed against Bucky’s as they both sway back into place. “Just like that, babe. When you feel me move towards you, you move away. When I move back, you chase me. Don’t think about it, just feel it with your body.”

“Okay,” Louis whispers with his eyes closed.

Bucky shifts his weight a few more times, activating his muscles earlier than absolutely necessary to give Louis some advanced notice. Bucky closes his eyes as well and lets his forehead rest against Louis’, and they quietly complete a circle in sync, shuffling back and forth with perfectly shared focus.

They don’t talk at all for the next several minutes, and one song changes into the next as Bucky uses his hips to guide Louis through the steps. Louis is getting better at reading him. They press closer and closer together, and Louis picks up on more minute changes now, can anticipate his steps earlier. It’s devastatingly intimate. Louis’ been hard since they started, and Bucky isn’t far behind him.

Louis misses a step and falls just slightly out of alignment, his thigh slotting forcefully between Bucky’s legs, and Bucky groans from the steady, direct pressure on his cock.

“You’re so sexy,” Louis whispers, and Bucky finally opens his eyes to see Louis staring intensely at him.

“Do you want to take this upstairs and mess around?” Bucky asks, licking his dry lips.

“I’d like that,” Louis says, tugging slightly on Bucky’s hair. His pupils are huge. “If I jump, will you catch me?”

“Always,” Bucky says hoarsely.

“Alexa, shut up,” Louis says, and then he hops up into Bucky’s waiting arms. Bucky catches him easily, and Louis winds his legs around Bucky’s waist and holds his face with both hands, kissing him slick and insistent as Bucky blindly makes his way through the house.

“Hold on,” Bucky says as they approach the stairs, and Louis secures his arms around Bucky’s neck and looks deeply into his eyes.

“C’mon, soldier,” Louis murmurs as they head up the stairs. “Let’s go make a memory.”

*

A few weeks later, Bucky comes home from running some errands, and Louis isn’t there. He slowly counts to five, and then he checks the whiteboard near the back door, where Louis has scrawled “Laying out by the pool!” and drawn a smiley face with Xs for eyes. Bucky makes his way over to the deck and finds Louis sprawled across a chaise lounge. He’s wearing sunglasses and a hoodie and sweatpants, which is probably not normal attire for sunbathing but is pretty typical for Louis.

“You look hot,” Bucky calls out as he approaches, and Louis sits up a little and grins, preening under the attention.

“Do you like it?” Louis asks, spreading his arms wide, and it takes Bucky a minute to realize that Louis’ hoodie is mostly blue, but the left arm is a patterned grey, with a red star over the biceps.

“Is that a Winter Soldier hoodie?” Bucky asks in disbelief, and Louis nods gleefully.

“It’s Gucci!” Louis says excitedly. “They’re doing a whole line of vintage Avengers apparel. I saw it in a store window and had to stop myself from buying the whole display.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bucky says, sitting beside Louis on the chair. Louis curls up into him, stroking his fingers over the star on Bucky’s own arm. “Who would want to buy that?”

“Me,” Louis says. “I was lying, by the way. I did buy the whole display.”

“You’re so weird,” Bucky says, kissing Louis’ forehead.

“Gotta support my man,” Louis says happily, resting his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Who do you think authorized it? Are you public domain? Does S.H.I.E.L.D. own the rights to the Winter Soldier? Is someone going to pay you for this?”

“No clue,” Bucky admits. “Never thought to ask. I’ll call Jemma and find out.”

“Do that,” Louis says. “Also, please pass along my request for an official Winter Soldier pin-up calendar.”

“Not a chance,” Bucky says with a grin.

“Worth a shot,” Louis says, shaking his head. “How was the farmers market today?”

“It was good,” Bucky says. “I’m gonna make you eat leeks.”

“If you say so,” Louis says with a grimace.

“You’ll like them,” Bucky promises. “And Tex cut me up some seed potatoes and told me what to do with them. Think I’m gonna plant them and start that garden already.”

“I think that’s such a nice idea,” Louis says softly. “And things went okay with Shuri?”

“Things were great with Shuri,” Bucky says. “She checked everything out and tightened a few processes, and everything is just about perfect.”

“Good,” Louis says. His fingers trail from Bucky’s metal shoulder down his arm, and he pauses when he finds a new vibranium plate on Bucky’s inner wrist, the black metal stark against the grey. “What’s this?”

“Needed a little fixing, and that’s all she had to patch me back up,” Bucky says, which is half true. “Do you hate it? I know it looks weird.”

“I rather like it,” Louis says thoughtfully. “It’s artistic, innit? Looks a bit like a tattoo.” He pronounces it like _tah’ oo_ , so distinctive and so Louis, and Bucky is head over fucking heels for this man. “Can I touch it?”

“Please,” Bucky says. “I need to make sure it perceives sensations the way the rest of me does.”

Louis nods, and he strokes his fingers tentatively over the new patch. Bucky’s metal hums happily. “Gonna have to color in a spot on me new hoodie with a sharpie so we match.”

“You don’t have to go ruining your new hoodie just because you have a patchwork boyfriend,” Bucky says.

“Absolutely I do,” Louis says, and he presses his lips softly to the vibranium plate, which stores the energy for a moment then bounces it back to Louis. “Oh, that’s different. I liked that.” He continues to fuss over the plate, experimenting with different touches and delightedly describing the results.

Louis doesn’t know it yet, but beneath his inquisitive fingers, that vibranium patch is guarding a small compartment that Shuri installed for Bucky, and inside that compartment is a ring. It’s one strand of vibranium braided with one strand of metal from the plate Shuri removed from his wrist. It’s strong, and it’s soft. A piece of the past and a piece of the future, all the best that Bucky has to offer, twisted up together into a promise that he thinks he might be ready to make someday.

Not today, but someday.

Bucky still doesn’t know how long he’s going to live or how much time he has left or even how he’ll age, but he wants to spend that time with Louis. He knows that for certain.

“Will you show me your potatoes?” Louis asks. “I don’t think I’m much for gardening, but I’ll help you get set up if you like.”

“I would love that,” Bucky says.

He stands up, and Louis follows, his hand slipping effortlessly into Bucky’s as they walk back towards the house.

“Let’s grow something together.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/176673880449/dust-to-dust-by-1000directions-louis)
> 
>  
> 
> Bucky and Louis will return


End file.
